


Blue Lines

by rufeepeach



Series: Red Lights [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Demiromanticism, Demisexuality, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, ace-spec characters, red lights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 10:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12703503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: Two years after their first night together, Belle faces a decision about her future, and Gold worries she's slipping away from him. Happy beginnings are terrifying things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I planned for there to be three fics in this series, and here it is: the happy ending. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this - I never expected this one RCIJ fic to snowball into a full demi/a-spec AU, but here we are. Enjoy!

Belle’s eyes were on her food.

They were at Granny’s, as always on a Wednesday night, eating their usual cheeseburger and fries. Isaac wished it had the same comforting familiarity it usually did, but something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a few days now, and he wished he knew what so at least he’d know why he was so nervous all the time. He walked around with a constant knot in his stomach. He jumped every time his phone buzzed.

He knotted his hands in his lap, and chanced another look at Belle. He wished she’d tell him what she was thinking. He wished she’d say anything at all.

Sometimes all he needed to hear was ‘I love you’. But despite the fact he knew she felt it – he remembered that glorious first day when she’d said it in his kitchen, and she’d said it plenty since – she only told him when there was a reason to, or when he said it first.

He couldn’t get up the nerve to ask. She’d say it back if he said it first, but it wasn’t quite the same. To his anxious mind, the most beautiful words he could think of sounded like a platitude.

He certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask her where she was sleeping tonight. For all he’d hoped her collection of pyjamas and underwear in the drawer at his home were a sign that she was planning to move in soon, he still never had a clear answer to that question until the end of the night. She split her time, and while sometimes it would be days before she needed a night in her little flat over the library, it was never enough anymore.

It felt as if she always had one foot out the door, and while he knew anything he could have of Belle was a blessing, a victory, an unbelievable wonder, he was a selfish man and he wanted more. He wanted her toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, and all her clothes hanging side by side with his suits in the wardrobe, and to make the bed on both sides every morning because she never did.

He hadn’t worried about these things last week. Last week everything had been fine and shining.

Then, he’d woken up on Saturday morning to find the bed empty and Belle putting her coat on, babbling excuses before vanishing into the cold November air, and nothing had been the same since.

Maybe she was thinking of moving. The thought was grim, but ever-present. Hadn’t she told him, nearly two years ago when they met, that her dream was to work at the Harvard library? Perhaps that morning she had received an email offering her a job, or a place on their PhD program. Perhaps she’d simply seen images of a friend’s travels or career successes, and realised what little she had settled for.

He’d been a selfish fool to ever think she’d be happy forever with him and Storybrooke. Belle was built for bigger, better, more exciting things.

He looked at her. She was lost in thought, pushing fries around her plate. He’d give the world, he thought, to know right then what was happening in that clever mind of hers.

“Belle?” he jolted her out of her revere, and she looked up. He’d come to hate the quick smile she’d plaster over her face to placate him.

“Yes?”

A million questions clogged his throat: ‘what’s the matter?’; ‘what’s wrong?’; ‘what did I do?’; ‘where have you gone?’.

“How’s the food?” he asked, lamely. She shrugged.

“Same as ever,” she said. Maybe that was what was wrong, he thought: maybe all this familiarity, the sameness that kept him feeling safe and comfortable, was stifling her. Maybe they needed to travel more; maybe it’d cheer her up to suggest a vacation sometime soon.

Even as he thought it, he knew it was a quick fix to a deeper problem. If all Belle wanted was travel, she would have said so.

They finished their meal in relative silence. Isaac’s fears were only tempered by Belle’s hand creeping out to hold his, when the burgers had been cleared and they waited for the cheque. The touch was familiar, beautiful and tender. He wished he were brave enough to initiate more. Her touch could soothe any hurt.

“Are you coming back…” he almost said ‘home’, but trailed off. His house wasn’t her home, not really, not while half of her things were still in her apartment. He was too much of a coward, too afraid of tripping and breaking the most important thing in his life, to ask her outright to move in. If she wanted to be there, then there she’d be. “Back to mine?” he finished. Her smile this time, at least, was real.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her brows drawing together. “I need to be in the library early tomorrow to get some deliveries. This weekend?”

She could walk to the library in twenty minutes from his place, he thought, or he could drive her and just open the shop an hour early. There was no need to sleep in her apartment unless she didn’t want to sleep at his.

Perhaps it was better she didn’t come over. At least this way, he couldn’t disappoint her by finding himself incapable of satisfying her. His anxiety was severely limiting his already sex drive as it was, especially since Belle herself was at the centre of his worrying.

It had only been a week since things had felt okay. He tried to remember that: only a week ago, they’d gone and had dinner at Emma and Neal’s, and everything had been wonderful. But somewhere between staggering home from his son’s, still giggling and a little drunk and falling into bed together, and now, something had changed.

“Okay,” he said. He clenched his cane between his hands. Her hand crept out to cover his. Her blue eyes met his and for a moment they were so full of something, something uncertain and beseeching, that he almost asked her outright what was wrong. “I love you,” he said. It was the only way to make her say it back.

“I love you too,” she sighed. Her eyes slid from his. Her hand fell to her side. “I gotta go,” she leaned up and kissed him, chaste and quick, and then she was gone.

Isaac was familiar with the deadweight in his stomach. He walked home leaning hard on his cane, and put on the kettle.

The cup of chamomile tea ended up down the drain. He poured a scotch instead.

She was getting ready to leave. There was no other explanation. She was trying to decide whether their relationship was worth the sacrifice of the excitement and ambition she needed to thrive. She was probably already applying for jobs in Boston or New York, getting ready to present him with an opportunity he couldn’t ask her to refuse. Maybe if he were lucky, he’d get a month or two of long-distance before she called time. Perhaps she would spare him the pain of watching her leave.

He downed his scotch, and poured another, and then another.

Only a week, he thought. Maybe it had been the homey domesticity of dinner at Emma and Neal’s that had tipped it. Maybe it was Emma announcing she was pregnant again, and the perfect picture the two of them made with Henry and another on the way. Maybe the way Belle had stumbled and caught herself on their white picket fence had been prophetic.

He was lucky to have had her for as long as he did. He trusted that she loved him, that what they’d shared had been real. She’d given him the best two years of his life. He couldn’t bear to hold her back from her dreams, wherever they may be.

He started when the front door opened, a key in the lock. Had she changed her mind, and come over after all? He scrambled to hide the scotch: he couldn’t very well explain why he’d been drinking in the dark all alone.

“Papa?”

He sighed, and sagged back into his chair. Even worse than Belle, he hated for Neal to see him like this.

Neal rounded the corner into the living room, and turned on a light. “What’re you doing with the lights off, papa?” he asked. Isaac blinked at him.

“Drinking,” he said. The word rolled off his tongue, loosened by the scotch. “Why?”

“Is Belle here?” Neal narrowed his eyes, and shuddered. “Oh, God, I didn’t interrupt did I?”

“No, she’s at home,” Isaac slurred. “She’s in her home and I’m in mine.”

“Oh no, Papa did you… did you guys have a fight?” Neal sat down on the sofa next to him, and eased the scotch glass out of Isaac’s unresisting fingers.

“No,” Isaac shook his head. “It’s fine. What did you need?”

“Henry left a toy here,” Neal explained. “I figured I’d just pick it up, didn’t need to disturb you.”

“You’re never a disturbance, Bae,” Isaac mumbled, defaulting to the old nickname. “I think it’s behind the couch. I was meaning to return it.”

He reached down, and fumbled around, his hand grasping the arm of Henry’s teddy. He pulled it out, and handed it over.

“Thanks papa,” Neal sighed, taking the bear from Isaac and setting it down beside him. “Now what happened?”

“Nothing,” Isaac said. Neal shook his head.

“Then you wouldn’t be drinking in the dark all alone,” he pointed out, reasonably. “Do you want me to call Belle?”

“No,” Isaac shook his head. “No, don’t disturb her.”

Neal’s eyes narrowed. “So you did have a fight, then. You always want to see Belle: you’d superglue yourself to her if she’d let you.”

Isaac felt a lump forming in his throat, and he hated himself. What kind of spineless, pathetic, useless excuse for a man burst into tears in front of his son at the mere mention of his girlfriend? The answer was obvious: the same sort of worthless idiot who could have had Belle, and somehow let her slip through his fingers.

“No,” he replied. He despised the way his voice shook. At least it was the truth.

“Did she say something?” Neal asked, “Did you guys break up?”

“No,” he said again. “No she never says anything.”

That was the problem, he thought. The woman who had taught him how to both speak and listen had suddenly stopped doing either.

“Oh,” Neal swallowed. He took Isaac’s hand in both of his. “So there is something wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Isaac admitted. He hung his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and regretted that last glass of scotch. He wouldn’t burst into pathetic tears in front of Neal. He tightened his grip on Neal’s hand until he was sure he was hurting him, but Neal didn’t let go.

“What happened, papa?” Neal asked, softly.

This time, Isaac couldn’t keep it in. After all, Neal had already seen him at his most vulnerable, hadn’t he? They’d met in the hospital, gone through physiotherapy together, both with broken bones from the car accident that had taken Neal’s foster family. Neal had been the only thing Isaac had in the world after Mila left… at least until he’d met Belle.

“I don’t know,” he said, again. “She’s just… gone quiet. Like she woke up one morning and realised that the past two years were a mistake.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Neal assured him. Isaac shook his head.

“She keeps looking at me like… like there’s something she needs to say. But then I always say the wrong thing, or she thinks better of it, or whatever happens in her mind tells her it’s a mistake, and she stops.”

“Are you… worried she might be cheating on you?” Neal asked, hesitantly. Isaac swallowed hard around the bile rising in his throat.

“I can’t rule it out,” he admitted. “But I feel as if that’s something she’d be able to tell me. It would be hard, perhaps impossible to cope with, but…” he shook his head. For all his worries, all his doubts, he wasn’t afraid of that. Belle understood sex; she had no shame about being frank and open about her needs. She also understood, better than anyone, his own insecurities. “If Belle wanted to sleep with someone else, she would tell me and break up with me first. She wouldn’t hurt me like that on purpose, she’s too kind.”

“Well then maybe it’s nothing to do with you,” Neal shrugged. “I mean, maybe something happened with her dad, or her job, or something like that?”

Isaac nodded, “It’s entirely possible.”

“Then why are you sitting in the dark alone? Ask her!”

“Because any answer I can come up with takes her away from here,” Isaac said, his voice soft and low, deadly in its certainty. “Her father is in Melbourne, and there’s no future for a librarian in Storybrooke. In two years she’s done all anyone could hope to with that little place under the clock tower. Even if…” he swallowed, hard, and pushed down that lump in his throat. “Even if it’s not me. Even if she doesn’t… Bae, there’s so little to keep her here, and so many good reasons for her to go.”

“You’re giving yourself no credit at all there, papa,” Neal said, gently. Isaac snorted.

“That’s what she’d say,” he said. “But even if that’s true, I can’t be the thing that stops her from doing what she needs to do. If she needs it… if she asks, then I have to let her go.”

“You have to _talk_ to her,” Neal insisted. Isaac grit his teeth.

“I can’t,” he said. “I just… I can’t.”

Neal gave him a long, steady look, but didn’t press the issue. Something truly pathetic must have been visible in his face, Isaac thought, because his son squeezed his hand, and looked away.

“Okay,” he said. “But you’re going to have to at some point. This is making you miserable.”

“I’d rather be miserable with her than without her,” Isaac sighed. “Whatever’s keeping her silent also keeps her beside me. That’s enough.”

“Is it?” Neal asked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Isaac said, firmly. Of that, he was positive: any existence with Belle in it was superior to one without it, however short lived that might be.

\---

Belle had her coat and shoes on. She was almost out the door… before she thought better of it, and sat back down.

It was the third time that night she had almost left the apartment, almost walked the five blocks to Isaac’s, almost. Almost.

She slumped in her chair. She kicked off her heels, and threw them across the apartment, almost breaking her teapot in the process. The coat soon followed, strewn across the floor, a pool of dark red on the cream carpet.

She was tempted to go back into the bathroom. Maybe this time, she would get a comforting answer: one blue line, not two. Then the last five were a false positive, and nothing had to change, and she could meet Isaac tomorrow for lunch and look him in the eye without worrying what he might see there.

Her head spun. She couldn’t think straight. It was as if that second person’s thoughts were invading her own, despite the fact she knew it was just a clump of cells, nothing to speak of yet. Nothing to write home about: nothing to tell anyone about.

“Fuck,” she muttered, under her breath, and raked a hand through her hair. “Fuck.”

At least the timing could have been worse, she thought. At least it hadn’t happened while she was still escorting. Except, back then she’d had a plan, hadn’t she? They all had, all the girls at the agency, it was the sort of thing one had to talk about when sex with strangers was a daily reality.

Some of the girls knew they’d keep it. It didn’t matter who the sperm donor was, or whether he wanted to know he’d knocked up a prostitute. They’d take it as a sign it was time to retire, and use the money they’d made to start a new life with their new family, whatever that looked like.

Others were more realistic, in Belle’s opinion. A child deserved better than a mother who’d been paid for the night it had been conceived. Unwanted pregnancy was an occupational hazard, a problem that could be dealt with in any number of ways. Belle had never intended to be anyone’s mother.

But she wasn’t twenty-two anymore. She wasn’t an escort anymore. The clump of cells she was carrying felt less like a biological burden and more like a child that had been created in love. It was already loved. At least one of its parents was already a father, and the best parent Belle could hope for a child to have. The moment Isaac knew he was to be a father – and he’d have to know sooner or later, wouldn’t he? – he would love their child with all his heart.

It wasn’t so simple anymore. It wasn’t a case of a pill, or a trip to a doctor’s office, or a call to an adoption agency. It wasn’t a decision she felt comfortable making alone.

It didn’t _feel_ like a problem. It felt like a child. _Her_ child. Her _baby_.

It was too early for morning sickness; Belle knew that. Her stomach still rolled; she was still curled on the bathroom floor minutes later, her dinner flushed away and stomach heaving.

How was she supposed to face Isaac like this? She felt tears leaking down her face; she wished he were here to hold her hair back, and kiss her forehead, and make tea like he had when she’d had a stomach flu a few months back. He’d wrapped her in a blanket and they’d watched old movies, her head pillowed in his lap. She’d been sick and shivery, but she wouldn’t have been anywhere else. She’d never felt safer or more loved than when she was with him, especially when she let him take care of her. She hadn’t felt so accepted, so fully loved and cherished, since her mother died.

She’d always thought she was so tough, so capable on her own. She was so much stronger with him.

The thought of losing him broke her heart. She couldn’t bear the idea of going back to that lonely life, a life where no one ever really knew her and she was always coming home to a cold, empty apartment. A life without love, without his love, without that adoring, doting look he had whenever he looked at her.

Shouldn’t she be happy, then, that she was carrying what would become his child? That they could be a family? Isaac would certainly think so.

Part of her wanted to weep with joy at the idea. The image was beautiful, the three of them together, happy and loving. Most of her wanted to vomit again, although there was nothing left in her stomach.

Her mother had been wonderful, soft and warm and loving, smart and kind, but her father… well, Belle had grown up in a family where one parent had never planned on having children. The thought of having a baby only to replicate her parents’ marriage and her own relationship with her father was too horrifying to contemplate. The idea that it could be even worse than that… that her child could grow up as Isaac had, broken by his parent’s cruelty, by his father’s lack of love for his son…

She’d only just learned how to love one person, and she wasn’t very good at it. She didn’t say it enough, didn’t express it enough. Isaac coped, as best he could, but he was a grown man; a child could catch a chill from that lack of warmth.

She couldn’t bear the thought of bringing a baby into the world only to be another bad parent.

Belle hauled herself to her feet, and staggered to her bedroom.

Even that didn’t really help. It wasn’t where she really wanted to be. Her bed wasn’t as comfortable as Isaac’s; her apartment wasn’t as warm. And neither had Isaac in it.

She wished she could just go across town and be with him, without worrying about the rest. But this was an all-or-nothing decision: she knew that. There could be no half-measures, no equivocation. She couldn’t be a mother some nights and not others, the way she decided where to sleep. Really, she knew the halfway balance they had now was wearing thin: either way, she’d have to decide sooner or later whether she was in or out. And she couldn’t have Isaac, and not their child.

Was that what she even wanted? When had she decided she didn’t want children? How much of this was just a deep, abiding fear of screwing it up?

He’d agree with anything she asked for: she knew that. If she wanted to give their child away, or terminate the pregnancy, he wouldn’t stop her. It would kill him, though. It would whittle away at him, until they could barely look at one another. He was a natural father, and she knew how he longed for family. She couldn’t be the person who kept him from a child he would love the moment he knew of its existence. She couldn’t be that selfish.

She settled back into bed, and tried to enjoy how she could spread out when she didn’t have to share. It didn’t work: she missed him when she didn’t sleep in his bed, spooned up behind him. She was starting to wonder whether she was only still coming back here on principle, to keep from having to commit to moving in with him and beginning a life together.

The moment she told Isaac, she would have to know how she wanted to proceed. She needed to know her own mind – her own heart – before she tangled his up into the mix.

She knew what his answer would be. She wished she knew what hers was.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle finally managed to fall asleep, tossing and turning. When the wintry, watery sunlight peeked through the blinds in the morning, she wasn’t ready for it.

She hadn’t been lying to Isaac: she did have an early delivery that morning, part of her drive to create a convincing young adult section to sit between the adult fiction and the children’s corner. Mayor Mills was keen to get Storybrooke’s youth ‘off the streets’, and Belle wasn’t the only citizen roped into helping with the effort. The Miner’s Festival organisers had been told on no uncertain terms that they were to modernise this year’s festivities to appeal to young people – no easy feat, when said organisers were a handful of nuns and a grizzled old handyman.

Ruby Lucas had been sat with Leroy at the diner the other day, explaining Instagram for what looked like the fifth time that morning. Belle didn’t envy her.

Belle also hadn’t noticed any wild bands of youths roaming the streets vandalising and dealing hard drugs, but that was neither here nor there. Even if they weren’t feral as Regina Mills claimed, Belle wasn’t going to turn down the chance to reach out to a new audience.

With the first deliveries in, Belle spent the following hours until opening time shelving the new additions. It was a mixed bag: she had ordered a number of bestsellers along with some older works. Half of it was fantasy, but Belle had always found fantasy aimed at young people to be generally more fun than that written for adults: more complex interpersonal drama, less nudity and stabbing.

She smiled when she got to the bottom of the box. She hadn’t been able to resist ordering an old favourite, and she lifted _Her Handsome Hero_ out as if welcoming home an old friend. She doubted the old story would appeal to any of the younger generation, but as a child the story’s titular hero, Gideon, had been as familiar and comforting as any real person. She flicked through the pages with a soft smile, losing herself easily into memory. She could almost hear her mother’s warm voice reading it aloud.

Gideon was a hero, strong and brave. But in the end, it wasn’t his sword that saved the day, but his heart: he set down his weapons, and reached out a loving, compassionate hand to the evil sorcerer that threatened his city and all he held dear. He forgave, and in so doing destroyed the darkness with light.

Belle had always wanted to be like that, to be so bright and brave and full of love that it could save the world. She kept falling short. She didn’t feel like the hero these days, but a scared little girl balanced on the edge of a cliff.

She was about to shelve it, then thought better. Holding that book was the first time she’d felt like herself in days. She had her own battered copy somewhere upstairs of course, but there was no harm in rereading it through the day. Things didn’t tend to pick up until after school let out anyway.

Belle turned the sign on the door to ‘open’, and sat down at her desk. For the first time in a week, she was able to lose herself in a book, and for a few hours as people came and went she barely had to surface, avidly devouring Gideon’s adventures as if she didn’t know them by heart already. Some insane part of her even believed that if she kept reading, somewhere in these pages might even rest the answer to her own dilemma.

“Good book?” she was startled out of her reading by the first voice all day to address her. Most people just slid their books over for her to stamp, and went on their way.

Neal was standing in front of her, bookless, his hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” she said, blinking as if only now waking up. “Old favourite.”

“Cool,” Neal said. “I ah, can we talk?”

A knot of dread coiled in Belle’s stomach. “Sure.”

“You probably know what this is about,” Neal started. He shifted on the balls of his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Shit, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” she asked, trying not to show him how nervous he was making her. Had Isaac said something? Had she hurt him with her odd behaviour? She’d been doing her best to be normal, but he knew her so well she knew she couldn’t fool him for long.

“Emma was right,” Neal murmured under his breath. “I’m not the person to do this. I’ve got enough shit going on with Henry suddenly deciding he’s Banksy, I can’t do this too.”

“Neal, you’re kind of worrying me here,” Belle said. “Is Isaac okay? Is Henry okay?”

Neal attempted a smile, “Everyone’s fine, don’t worry. Look, Emma wanted to have a chat. She wanted me to ask you if you could come by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sure,” Belle nodded. “Why?”

“You can make it in the middle of the day?” Neal blinked. Belle shrugged.

“I’ve been using some of my holiday days recently anyway,” she said. She didn’t mention it was because she needed time to vomit, or watch TV, or just stare at a wall. The last week hadn’t been easy. “It’s no problem.”

“Great,” Neal said, but his smile was tight. “Good.”

“Neal, am I in trouble or something?”

“No,” he assured her. “No, Emma just had something she wanted to talk about, but getting Henry out of the house is a production. It’s easier to have an adult conversation when he can just play with his blocks.”

Belle nodded: that made sense. “What was that about Henry suddenly taking up street art?” she asked. Neal snorted.

“He’s discovered how pretty Sharpie on white walls can be,” he said. “The sooner you can convince him books are more fun than vandalism the better.”

Belle grinned, finally back on safe ground. “Hold on,” she said. She left her desk, and went back to the children’s section. She pulled three books from the lowest shelf, where she’d stacked them to remind herself to take them over to Emma and Neal at some point.

She returned to Neal, and handed the books over to him, stamping them as she went. “Start with these,” she said.

“ _Six Dinner Sid_ ,” Neal read the top title with a small smile. Belle grinned.

“It’s about a cat that tricks a whole street into feeding him every day,” she said. “It was a favourite when I was very little, or so I’m told.”

“Thanks, Belle,” Neal said. He looked as if he was about to say more, but he clamped his mouth shut and thought better of it. “I’d better be going. Text Emma so she knows when to expect you.”

“I will,” Belle nodded. Neal gave her one last smile, and left.

Belle returned to brave, handsome Gideon and his battles with the evil sorcerer. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost forget the sickness in her stomach, and how hard it was to talk now to the people who a week ago had almost been her family.

Almost.

\---

“Henry, I love you but I swear to God if you don’t put down that marker, mommy’s going to have a breakdown.”

Henry held the marker a bare inch from the wall, a look of pure, innocent sweetness on his pudgy face. Emma wasn’t fooled: Henry was as much of a delinquent as his parents, and they all knew it.

Emma moved before Henry could, and snatched the marker out of his hand. “Ha!” she cried, and then wondered at her own sanity that she felt so triumphant having defeated an eighteen-month-old.

“Mama,” Henry gurgled. Emma nodded.

“That’s right, kid,” she said. “Your mom’s not to be messed with.”

“Pen!” Henry yelled, pointing a finger at the marker in her hand. “Pen, pen!”

“Nope,” Emma popped the ‘p’ and sat down hard on the sofa behind her, the marker grasped firmly in her hand. “Not today, kiddo. Why don’t you play with your blocks, and let mommy get some rest? Your sister’s kicking my ass today.”

They didn’t know the sex yet, of course. They wouldn’t know for a while yet, since they were only just out of the first trimester. Emma just had a feeling, intuition: this one was a girl. She was working on that assumption until science told her otherwise.

Henry just blinked at her. Then, on his fat little hands and knees, started searching for something on the floor. Emma made an educated guess, and started to gather the rest of the markers before her criminal son could find them. “I’m law enforcement, kid,” she muttered, tapping him gently on the forehead with the lid of the bright red marker that was his favourite. “I’m trained to watch for patterns. You need to up your game.”

Henry giggled. Emma shook her head.

The doorbell rang, and Emma straightened. “Coming!” she yelled. She eyeballed her son. “One mark on the walls and I’m making you try broccoli again,” she warned. Henry didn’t understand the threat, but she felt the glare and the tone had made her point heard.

Belle was fidgeting with her skirt. Emma stepped aside, and gestured for her to come inside. “Neal said you’d be coming by,” Emma said. Belle nodded.

“He was pretty insistent yesterday,” she replied. Emma could only imagine. Neal had come home two nights ago in a state, ranting about promises and commitments and stupid idiots who forgot how to communicate. She didn’t think he’d calmed down all that much in the interim. It was sweet how protective he was of his father, but it did get a little much sometimes. At least the books he’d brought home had sent Henry to sleep happy.

“You want some tea?” Emma asked. Belle shook her head. “Come sit down, then.”

She led Belle into the living room, where Henry was the picture of innocence. He was playing with his teddy and looking for all the world like he’d never even heard of a marker, much less thought of drawing on walls.

Belle sat down on the sofa, and for a moment Emma was taken aback. She’d never seen Belle look so small, so hunched. Belle had such a bright, warm personality that on a normal day she filled up the room. Today, she looked as if she wanted to fade into the sofa and never come out.

She was also looking at Henry with an odd expression on her face. Emma watched her for a long moment, her suspicions rapidly being confirmed. The sex of her baby wasn’t the only thing she had an intuitive feeling about.

“You okay?” she asked, as if she hadn’t noticed anything at all. Belle nodded.

“I’m good,” she lied. “How are you?”

“Well the morning sickness has returned with a vengeance,” Emma sighed, slumping back on the sofa. “And Henry’s an artist now. He likes murals.”

Belle looked at the clumsy pile of markers on the dining table, out of Henry’s reach, and the ghost of a smile came to her face. “Neal mentioned,” she said. She swallowed hard, and looked deeply uncomfortable. “Emma, why did Neal ask me to come over?”

“Because I asked him to,” Emma said. “Because someone dumped my phone in the toilet, and hasn’t learned object permanence yet so doesn’t understand why mommy was so angry.”

She glared at Henry. Henry blinked back.

“Did you need a babysitter? You’re always welcome to bring him by the library if you need a few hours of peace.”

“It’s a good offer,” Emma said, genuinely grateful. “Is there some reason why you’d want to take care of an infant when you don’t have to?”

“I care about his mother’s sanity?” Belle quipped, her smile reaching nowhere near her eyes. Her voice had a nervous little note to it, discordant and shaky. Emma looked at her, shrewdly.

“Belle, has Neal ever told you about my superpower?” she asked. Belle blinked, and shook her head.

“Superpower?”

“I have a good sense for when people are lying or trying to hide something. It made me a really good cop, and it’s helpful being a mom too.”

“I bet,” Belle said. She was looking more uncomfortable by the moment.

“Belle… is everything okay with you and Isaac?”

“What?” Belle looked up at her sharply, “Why? What did he say?”

“Neal just picked up a weird vibe,” Emma lied. No need to be too much of a middleman, after all. “And you seem kind of off. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and it didn’t seem like a conversation to have at the supermarket or the library.”

Belle swallowed hard, and nodded. Emma was about to say something else, when a noise from Henry’s side of the room alerted her. He’d knocked over his tower of blocks, and looked distraught. “Oh, kid,” she murmured. She got off the sofa, and went to scoop him up into her arms, hugging him close. “Please don’t cry, kiddo,” she said to him. “Mom’s trying to have a chat with Aunt Belle, you wanna say hi, huh?”

“Belle!” Henry’s face lit up, disaster averted, and Belle’s whole face crumpled.

“Well that’s my suspicions confirmed,” Emma murmured. She carried Henry over to the sofa, and held him while he reached for Belle’s hair. Belle had buried her face in her hands. Emma balanced Henry on her knee, and reached her free hand out to rub circles on Belle’s back.

“Belle, are you pregnant?” she asked, bluntly. There were no two ways about it: it was either pregnancy or an affair, and she really doubted Belle would be stupid or cruel enough to cheat. Even Neal didn’t suspect that, and Neal could be a suspicious bastard when he got going.

Belle didn’t reply, but her shoulders shook and Emma took that as a yes. She reached around Belle’s back to the box of tissues on the end table, and handed them over. Belle took one wordlessly, and rubbed at her eyes.

“How did you know?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Emma shrugged.

“Well when Neal asked you to meet me here, at home, at three pm on a Friday I figured you weren’t going into the library as much,” she shrugged. “And when I found out I was having Henry I felt so fucked up for the first week or so at the idea of it that I ended up skipping almost a whole week of work. And then there was how Neal said the weirdness started after last weekend, when we told you guys we’re expecting. And there’s the fact you’ve not been able to look at Henry without wincing since, and yet you keep thinking of him, like with the books.”

“That’s… observant,” Belle murmured. She braced her elbows on her knees; she didn’t look at Emma.

“I was gonna make detective before I was twenty-six, remember?” Emma said. “I notice things… okay, cards on the table, I had a spare pregnancy test in the bathroom and it had vanished by the time you guys left on Saturday night? So I kinda put two and two together. The rest kind of made sense after that.”

Belle snorted, “Nice solve Sherlock Holmes.”

Emma grinned. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Belle made a small, noncommittal noise. Her smile faded, and she looked incredibly weary. “You’re going to tell Isaac, then?”

“Oh no, that’s your job,” Emma told her. “One way or another he’s gotta hear it from you.”

“I know.” Belle’s voice was hoarse, miserable. Emma sighed, and tried to remember what Cleo had said to her, when she’d just found out.

“You used the test you took from me, right?” Emma said. “When we told you I’m three months along, it made you wonder. Maybe you were a few days or weeks late, maybe you’d felt a bit weird… I don’t know, but you just wanted to check. And there it was: two blue lines on the stick, and suddenly the bottom falls out of the world.”

Belle nodded, slowly. Her hair fell in sheets on either side of her face, hiding her expression. “I tried to be normal,” she said. “I guess I screwed that up.”

“Normal stops meaning anything once there’s a kid involved,” Emma told her. Belle nodded again.

“I’ve noticed. Suddenly… I don’t know. I’ve never felt this lost before.”

“Welcome to parenthood,” Emma snorted. Then she rolled her eyes and stopped herself, hating the self-satisfied tone that had come out of her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, “Sorry, I always promised I wouldn’t be one of those moms who turns into a smug piece of shit the moment someone else gets pregnant. It’s hard and I’m sorry.”

Belle looked at her, and for a moment she looked so lost and so vulnerable that Emma barely recognised her. Or, maybe she did recognise her. She remembered seeing that exact same expression on her own face, blinking back at her from the precinct bathroom mirror, while she worked out what came next.

“Aren’t I supposed to feel really happy?” Belle asked. “I mean, new mothers are meant to glow, right? Why do I just feel sick?”

“Some mothers plan for it,” Emma said. “The lucky ones plan and try and succeed and there’s already a baby-shaped hole in their lives, waiting to be filled. When I got pregnant, there was barely room in my life for a couch, let alone a baby. The apartment Neal and I had in Boston was just one room and a bathroom, with a partition we could close between the bedroom and the kitchen when we had guests.”

“Isaac’s house is big enough for ten kids,” Belle replied. “Money isn’t really a problem.”

“That wasn’t my point,” Emma said, gently. “Take it from someone who never planned on being anyone’s mom, making that space is really tough. And it’s not for everyone.”

“You’re not here to tell me everything happens for a reason?” Belle asked. Emma shook her head.

“Belle, my parents abandoned me by the side of a road. Neal doesn’t even know where his went. Neither of us have any family aside from Henry that we didn’t choose for ourselves. I’m here to tell you it’s normal not to glow,” she said. “It’s the hardest choice you’ll ever make. It changes literally everything, forever. You never get to make another decision again without factoring in that new person, so you have to be sure. “

“I’m… I’m not sure,” Belle told her, her voice so hesitant and shaky it made Emma want to hug her. Which was weird, because Emma was not a hugger by nature. “I don’t know what I want. I… I never planned on being a mother either. And I thought… I never thought if this happened, that the father would be involved, you know? I never thought I’d have to include someone else in this decision.”

Emma nodded. She knew that feeling.

“Does Neal know?” Belle asked. Emma shook her head.

“As if I’m going to drop that protective idiot on you,” she snorted.

“He’s protective for a reason,” Belle muttered. Emma could hear the guilt in her voice, and sighed.

“He is,” she admitted. “But he worries you’re not thinking about Isaac’s feelings, and I think he’s a moron because I think his feelings are all you’re worried about.”

“He wants to be a father,” Belle said, and Emma couldn’t disagree: Isaac had ‘dad’ written through him like rings through a tree. “I can’t… I can’t take that away from him.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be a mom,” Emma pointed out. “Single parenthood isn’t easy, but it’s gotta be better than raising a kid with someone who doesn’t want to be there. And Neal turned out fine. No one should make you do this if it’s not what you want.”

Belle swallowed hard. She was nodding, but she didn’t seem at all comforted by Emma’s words. She looked like she was going to vomit.

“Belle?”

“I don’t know,” Belle shook her head, her voice hoarse. She raked her slender, shaking fingers through her hair. “I don’t know.”

“Do you… do you want the best for the baby, Belle?” she asked, careful not to use any possessive pronouns, not to put any weight on it. Belle turned to stare at her.

“Of course I do,” she breathed. “How can you ask that?”

“That’s enough to start with,” Emma told her, gently. “Being willing to try is enough.”

Belle took a deep breath, and stared at her hands. She didn’t reply.

Emma pursed her lips. “You know, Neal’s taking Isaac out of town tomorrow. They’re taking Henry to some show in Boston, some nostalgia thing. They’ll be gone Friday night and all of Saturday.”

Belle nodded, “I know. The Nutcracker. Isaac took Neal their very first Christmas together. He invited me but…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t do ballet.”

“Why not?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“My mum… I almost became a ballerina. She was an amateur. It doesn’t matter. I just didn’t want to ruin their tradition with my baggage.”

Emma pressed her lips together, a hundred questions flooding to mind. “I just don’t get it,” she said, not giving voice to any of them. “I’ve never been to the ballet. Didn’t do a lot of field trips from the foster home. It never seemed like my thing anyway.”

Belle barely seemed to hear her, which was noteworthy in itself: Belle always listened. Now Emma thought about it, that was a large part of why she didn’t know much about Belle’s personal life, aside from that she loved Isaac and had worked as an escort. Belle was very good at talking about other people, and avoided ever talking about herself. Emma could relate. She knew she had emotional walls a mile thick; walls only a handful of people had ever managed to scale. She sat next to Belle, and felt an odd, not unpleasant sense of kinship. Maybe it was time to try and scale someone else’s walls for a change.

“What happened to your mom?” she asked, gently. Belle looked at her, blinking as if she’d barely heard her.

“She…” Belle swallowed, hard. “She died. Ovarian cancer. She was only forty-two.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma reached out a tentative hand, unpractised but well-meaning, and rubbed Belle’s back. How did people do this? Neal was always the emotional one, the empathetic, comforting one. She liked Belle a lot, she wanted to help, but she knew she was a blunt instrument. Belle herself had far more finesse, but it seemed she couldn’t use it to stitch her own wounds.

Belle swallowed hard. “I wish she was here now. She’d know what to do.”

“I get that,” Emma said. “I still pick up the phone to call Cleo, only to remember she’s been dead for two and a half years.”

Belle nodded. “I used to do that,” she said.

They sat in silence for a long minute, the ghosts between them almost a tangible presence. “The Nutcracker was a tradition for us too,” Belle said, softly, so quietly Emma almost didn’t hear her. “I didn’t want to spoil it for them.”

“Does Isaac know that?” Emma asked. Belle shook her head.

“I didn’t want to worry him,” she said. “He would have felt guilty about going without me, and it was so important to him.”

“Fair point,” Emma conceded. “Either way, he’ll be out of town. You’ll have the weekend alone to clear your head without him around to muddy the waters.”

“I suppose,” Belle agreed. She didn’t sound convinced.

“Sometimes it helps me to make a decision if I set a deadline,” Emma continued. “Maybe if you decide you’ll tell him on Sunday night, it’ll force your brain to cooperate. Just throw up your hands and say if you don’t know by then, leave it up to the universe. Better than spending more time worrying, right?”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” Belle agreed, although she didn’t look any happier than she had before. She managed a watery smile to Emma. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” Emma shrugged. “It’s only what Cleo did for me. Us pregnant ladies have to stick together.”

Belle nodded, her smile wobbling and wavering.

“Hey, hey,” Emma looked around for a distraction, but everything in the room was Henry’s and would only remind Belle of babies. “Uh- you wanna stay for lunch? We could watch shitty daytime TV or something?”

“I’m okay,” Belle lied, shaking her head. “I should be going anyway. The library needs to be open once school lets out.” She stood up, and brushed imaginary dirt off her skirt, straightening herself out. She forced a smile to her face, and it was scarily convincing: it was only her sort-of superpower that made Emma doubt her.

Awkwardly, Emma reached out to hug her. Belle hugged her back, and for a moment she clung on unexpectedly hard, as if she didn’t want to let go. Then she stepped back, thanked her again, and was gone before she could change her mind.

“Belle!” Henry pronounced, waving at the door. Emma nodded, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, Henry,” she said. She didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. She felt as if she’d had a conversation with someone she’d never met before, a side of Belle she’d never seen. She hoped that meant Belle was opening up, not that she was totally unravelling. In Emma’s experience they were often the same thing. “That was Belle.”


	3. Chapter 3

Isaac stared at his phone, and wondered if the device could combust from the sheer intensity of being stared at.

He needed it to buzz, to ring, to do anything but sit there, useless and inanimate. He hadn’t heard from Belle in two days – almost unprecedented – and only knew she was alive because he’d seen her in the library windows as he passed on his way to lunch.

He’d thought about stepping in, inviting her to come with him. Only a few weeks ago, less, she would have been waiting for him outside, or happy to be disturbed if she’d gotten caught up in work.

Now, he had no idea if he went inside whether her smile would reach her eyes. He was too much a coward to find out.

Isaac had reached a new level of dread: he now couldn’t even enjoy what little he still had of her. He almost wished she would just do it already, whatever awful thing she had to say or do to him, so he could stop living in this terrible _before_. Almost. He was still too afraid of the _after_ to force the issue.

If only she would call. If only he could hear her voice again, the voice he recognised, bright and full of life. She only spoke now when spoken to, as if most of her mind were somewhere else. He wished he knew where.

Neal hadn’t mentioned again what he’d seen that night, his father drinking alone in the dark, but he’d become more attentive since. More phone calls, more random drop-ins to the shop in the middle of the day. Isaac had just happened to run into Emma at Granny’s for lunch, who just happened to have an empty seat at her booth and to be ordering at the same time he was. His son and daughter-in-law were not subtle: he was being looked after.

He appreciated it. It almost softened the blow: at least he knew he wouldn’t be all alone after Belle was gone. The weight was still there, though. The sword of Damocles hung over his head, and he didn’t know if he would survive it when it fell.

He almost jumped out of his skin when his phone rang, as if he had conjured a call by sheer force of will. His heart thundered in his chest when he saw Belle’s name appear. He scrambled to answer, almost dropping it in the process. “Hey!”

There was a pause, then a breath. “Hi,” his heart dropped: she still sounded tentative and quiet. “Hoped I’d catch you before you left.”

“Neal will be by in around ten minutes,” he told her. He heard her hum in acknowledgement on the other end.

“When’re you back on Sunday?” she asked.

“Around five in the evening,” he said. “You’re still welcome to come with us, if you’d like?”

He still held out hope she might change her mind, and choose to come along. She’d shown him so many wonderful things; it would be so good to introduce her to something for a change. And he knew her well. He knew she would enjoy the ballet if she only tried it.

He also knew her well enough to know that if she’d wanted to come, she’d have said so.

“No, thank you,” she sighed, and he could almost see her biting her lip, lost in thought and a little sad. He never knew what to do, when she looked like that. It was even harder over the phone, without even the option to look at her with sympathy or pull her into his arms. “I… Isaac, I’ve seen the Nutcracker before.”

“Oh?” he frowned: she’d not mentioned it the last five times the trip had come up.

“Yes,” she replied. She sounded as if the words were being dragged from her, and he thought he knew where this was going already. There was only one topic Belle grew so reticent about, only one thing that brought her the pain he could hear so clearly in her voice. “My… my mum used to take me, every year, just like you and Neal do. The last time we went, we had to leave early because she was too weak to stay for the whole thing. It was the last outing we went on before she had to go into the hospice.”

“Oh,” his mouth went dry. Had he been the cause of all this misery? Was this all that had been upsetting her, a terrible memory brought on by his insensitivity? Could it be simply a matter of her mother’s death hitting her at the holidays? “Belle, if you’d told me, if I’d known-“

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, softly. The endearment was a balm to his heart. It didn’t come naturally; it was something she’d learned from him. It only came out when she meant it. Perhaps she hadn’t grown to despise him; perhaps it was as Neal had said, and nothing to do with him. “You would have helped,” she said. “I should have told you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he insisted. “I… but I _want_ to hear anything you want to tell me.”

“I know,” she repeated. “I know. I love you.”

His breath hitched – it felt like an eternity since he had heard her say that unprompted. “I love you too, Belle,” he said, the words bubbling from his lips like water from a spring, unstoppable, washing away every wound in their wake.

“Can we have dinner when you get back?” she asked. He swallowed around the knot in his throat, his continued anxiety at her low mood and odd behaviour at war with his relief at knowing she still loved him, and the love he felt for her in return.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Granny’s?”

“No,” she sounded strained, as if she were forcing the words out and yet they couldn’t come out fast enough, and the dread returned. “No, in private is better. At your place? I can bring take-out if-“

“I can cook,” he volunteered, automatically. It would give him something to focus on, something to do with his hands. “Belle, is everything alright?”

“We just need to talk,” she said, and Isaac felt the world cave in. Nothing good had ever, ever come from those words.

“Belle, you’re worrying me, sweetheart,” he said, hearing the anxious edge in his own voice but unable to stop it. This was it: Sunday she would tell him she was moving, or she’d met someone else, or she just couldn’t do this anymore. Maybe her father or her aunt was sick, turning her thoughts to her mother’s death. Maybe she had to go home.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him. He couldn’t believe her, however hard he tried. “I promise.”

“Belle, please, just tell me now-“

“Yellow,” she said. He stopped dead.

He wanted to ask again. He wanted to say to hell with the colours, to hell with their boundaries and their rules. But if he stopped respecting their rules, then he left the door open for her to do the same. If they couldn’t trust each other on this, then everything else could collapse too.

“Are you safe?” he asked, softly. It didn’t feel like pressing the issue to do that. He heard her take a breath.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m… I’m always safe with you.”

He released his breath in a slow sigh. Somehow, that felt more meaningful than ‘I love you’. But it also sounded like goodbye.

“I’ll text you when we get to Boston,” he told her. “And when I’m turning in for the night.”

“Good,” she said. She had rallied; her voice sounded bright, almost like herself. He wished he could feel the same. “Have fun. Say hi to Neal.”

“I will,” he croaked. “Goodbye, Belle.”

“Goodbye Isaac.”

The line went dead. He collapsed against the counter, and Neal found him there five minutes later, still bent over his ledger, trying not to feel it as the world caved in.

\---

Belle let herself into Isaac’s huge Victorian home with her spare key.

The place was huge, shadowy and dark, and cold with the heating turned off. He didn’t expect anyone to be home, and the heat had seeped out in his absence. Belle knew the feeling.

She’d tried to sit at home. Friday night Emma had gone out with Ashley and Mary Margaret, friends from her antenatal class, and invited Belle along. She’d gone for an hour or so, and enjoyed the company, but when talk had turned to babies she’d had to go home. At least in a group of pregnant women, no one had noticed she wasn’t drinking.

The day had dragged behind her, despite having tried to crowd it out with work and reading. Gideon had saved the evil sorcerer – who wasn’t so evil after all, just lonely and afraid – and Belle had found herself sobbing at the happy ending.

A hero wouldn’t run from her problems, hiding behind false smiles and half-truths because she was afraid to face the music. But despite having set a deadline, like Emma had suggested, little comfort came from knowing that within twenty-four hours the agony of not telling him would be over.

She stepped into the house, and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She turned on the lights, and kicked off her heels. She couldn’t sit in her cold little apartment that barely felt like home anymore, and she couldn’t call Isaac and ruin his evening. All that was left was this middle ground, pacing his empty house, inhaling his scent and surrounding herself in his things, and hoping that she would still be welcome after tomorrow. Hoping she would still want to be here after tomorrow.

Belle walked around the house by herself, longing for a man she could have seen yesterday, if she’d had the courage to call. She’d never felt so lonely before she knew him. Or, maybe she’d always been lonely until she met him, and it was that she now knew what it felt like _not_ to be lonely that made the feeling so keen when he was gone. Being alone was so much emptier, when being with him filled her up inside.

Except she wasn’t alone, was she? She was never alone now. There was another person within her, a person who one day would have thoughts and feelings and a heart of their own.

She wanted this child to exist, whether or not she wanted to be their mother. Isaac deserved that much, at least. He deserved all that she could give him.

Walking away from her child would mean walking away from Isaac, the man she was certain was the love of her life. Staying would mean a chance at a family, a home, the kind of enduring love she’d never thought she needed until she met him. Maybe she never would have needed it, if she’d never met him.

Maybe Emma was right. Maybe it was enough to be willing to try.

“This is going to be your home,” she murmured, feeling ridiculous addressing an empty room. Ashley had said that was how she had decided to keep her baby, before her fiancé had come to his senses and come home to her. She had considered adoption, and it was only when she’d started to feel like she and her child were a team, like they knew each other, that she’d decided to keep the baby no matter what.

Maybe she could do the same. Maybe if she could let her child know that their mama meant well, even if she was emotionally stunted and unavailable and scared, then they might cut her some slack.

“Your papa lives here now,” she said. “Your big brother grew up here. It’s way too big a house for one person, but you’re gonna change that. Your papa’s going to be so happy to have you here.”

She looked around the room, and found she had placed a hand over her still-flat stomach. She was talking to a clump of cells and an empty room. She had a lump in her throat.

She could see it before her eyes, clear as day: Isaac with a baby in his arms, holding their child with his face full of unabashed adoration. Isaac reading to their child, his hair tousled from a long day, tired but lit from within with his love for their baby. Falling asleep on the couch with the baby on his chest, both of them exhausted, a little fist clutching the front of his shirt. He would fall head over heels in love with their child, a child with his eyes and her nose, his sharp mind and her lust for adventure: a child that was half him, and half her, and completely their own person.

Belle’s heart clenched with love for him. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t imagine taking that life away from him. Isaac was too full of love, too good, too natural a parent to be denied the chance to raise his child. “You’re getting the best dad, kid,” she murmured. “I hope you know that.”

The choice she had to make was where she fit in that picture. Was she in the room too, bringing Isaac a cup of cocoa and taking the baby when he grew tired? Was she there to cuddle their child while Isaac read a story aloud, and to lay a blanket over them both as they slept?

Or was she on the outside, watching through the window, free to do whatever she pleased, to live her live unburdened, but forever isolated from them?

Forever isolated from her family.

The word hit her like a body blow. She sat down hard on the couch, her body fitting easily into the little groove Isaac had left in the seat, in his seat. He had sat here alone for years, languishing alone and miserable, that pure, strong heart wasting away. He had been sitting here alone for the past week, as Belle paced and cried and tore herself across town, unable to share her heart with the only person she had ever wanted to show it to.

The thought of going on without him, of looking in at him with their baby through that window and never joining them, tore her apart inside. The thought of her child crying for a mother who never came, longing for someone who had decided not to want them, was unbearable.

Emma had been right: she wanted their baby to be happy, and that was enough. She could figure the rest out. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that love was a choice, that it was learned not God-given? She’d learned to love before: surely she could do it again. She could be brave, for the sake of her baby. Refusing to try for fear of failing would be worse than never caring at all.

She was far more afraid of being outside in the cold, than she was of being on the inside and it not being perfect.

The door was open; she only had to be brave enough to walk through it. It was like before, like it had always been with Isaac: if she didn’t overthink it, if she just gave in to all the things she was afraid to want, then she could have what she had always needed. They could be a family.

“You’re going to have to be gentle with me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’re going to have to cut me some slack, when I shut down or I walk away because I don’t know what to say. You’re going to have to trust that I love you, when I forget to say it, because I will. I want to, anyway; I’ll learn how to. I want to know you and know how to love you. Your papa knows what he’s doing, but between you and me, mama’s totally lost.”

She swallowed hard. She was crying again, but she didn’t feel ripped apart like she had before. They felt like tears of relief, like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt herself begin to smile. A laugh bubbled out of her chest, wet and warm and real, and she sat back in Isaac’s seat, kicking her feet and spreading her arms like a child.

“He’ll forget to make you do your homework,” she said. “He’s a sucker for a pair of big eyes, I should know. You’re going to either have my baby-blues or your papa’s brown puppy eyes, and either way you’ll be lethal. So when I have to be the hardass, remember it’s for your own good. You’re going to have every chance in the world, every opportunity we can give you, and you’ll kick yourself if you don’t make the most of it.”

She took a deep breath, and then another, gulping in oxygen like she’d been drowning, and just hit dry land.

“You’re gonna see the world,” she promised. “All the places my mother never got to take me, I’m going to take you. We’ll go together, the three of us. We’ll share it. I’m going to learn how to share, for you. I might never be very good at it, but your papa is, and he’ll teach us both.”

Belle opened her eyes, and it was like waking up, like she’d been asleep for the past week, lost in a nightmare, but she was finally awake.

“I’m really scared, sweetheart,” she said. “I don’t want to break you. I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry in advance for all the ways I’ll be really bad at this.”

She said it out loud, and only then did she realise it was all she needed to say. No parent was perfect. She was willing to try. In the end, that had to be what mattered, right?

Suddenly, she didn’t want to wait twenty-four hours. She wanted that life she’d imagined, the three of them in their home, the warmth and the love, to start right now. She wanted Isaac here, in her arms, kissing her and telling her he loved her, that he loved their baby, and that they would be a family. She wanted him to prove that she wasn’t wrong, to look at him and feel that swelling feeling in her heart and know it was real.

Belle stood up, suddenly all forward motion. The fear was still there, clawing in her belly, but for the first time in weeks she felt like she could face it. It propelled her forward, made her want to be brave in the face of it. She felt she could be Gideon, her childhood hero, and defeat that fearful, lonely beast inside her with stubborn bravery and love, with kindness.

She turned off the lights, and slammed the door behind her, tearing back to her apartment where her car was waiting. It was only a three-hour drive to Boston. She could make it by midnight.


	4. Chapter 4

Isaac had barely seen the ballet. Only the warm weight of his toddler grandson on his knee, waving his hands and enraptured by the dancers, and the solid presence of his son beside him, had helped bank the anxiety rising inside him. It had stopped him from spiralling, but even that wasn’t enough to let him enjoy himself.

He almost wished he could have cancelled, the music too loud and stage too bright for his frayed nerves. But they’d been doing this for almost two decades now. If it mattered to Neal, then it mattered to Isaac.

He’d taken Neal to the ballet their first Christmas together. The car accident that had taken the Darling family from Neal had been in early January, and the onset of the snow had made Neal terrified to leave the house, scared of another car accident. Truthfully, Isaac had been scared of driving, too. The idea of a road trip to Boston, staying in a hotel and seeing a show, had been insane.

It had been Neal’s therapist’s idea, a way to break through those terrible memories and make travel exciting again. Isaac had been so afraid he’d almost said no.

He hadn’t. He’d known, even then, that he’d do anything for Neal. If this was what he needed, this was what he would have. And so, they had driven to Boston, and seen the only show Isaac had been able to get tickets for at such short notice, in the holiday season: The Nutcracker.

It had been one of the best nights of Isaac’s life.

Since then, they did the same thing every year, at some point in November or December: pizza, The Nutcracker, and room service sundaes at midnight.

This year, though, Neal was in the suite next door with his baby son. Isaac wished now that he’d asked Neal to book a family room, but at the time he’d thought Belle might come along. Now, of course, he knew better. The idea of sleeping another night alone made him faintly ill. That it would soon become the norm once more, his house and his bed once again empty and cold, was crushing. He could barely stand it. It was only the fear of quickening the end that kept him from calling Belle just to hear her voice.

Every time he thought of Sunday evening, he felt sick to his stomach.

She was going to break up with him. That had to be it. She still loved him, but something was in the way, her family or her career, perhaps just their age difference and how much more she still needed from her life. He would let her go, of course. She was so beautiful, so strong, and she had that wildness in her he had never had. She needed to be free.

He still felt like his heart was shattering in his chest whenever he thought of her. She might need to be free, but he needed her.

“You can’t jump to conclusions, papa,” Neal said, as they walked back from the theatre to the hotel. “Emma would have told me if she thought Belle was planning to dump you.”

“Belle wouldn’t have told her for that very reason,” Isaac retorted. “Bae, I know you’re trying to help, but-“

“But there’s dark, scary things in your brain that get kids with glasses?” Neal quipped. Isaac sighed.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I get that,” Neal said, his face soft with sympathy. “Look, maybe it doesn’t help, but no matter what you have me. You know that, right?”

“I do, Bae,” Isaac murmured, his heart softening a little to hear it. It did help, just a little. But Neal had his own life, his own family, and just as Isaac could never – should never – have been all Neal ever needed, so too did Isaac need something more. He’d never realised how much until he had it, and faced losing it.

“You also have Emma, and this little guy,” Neal looked down at Henry in his stroller, the boy having grown too tired to walk by the eighth block. Isaac’s ankle was protesting too, but they were almost back to the hotel.

“I know,” he said. “I know that.”

They reached the hotel, and for a moment Isaac was knocked sideways by a memory. Henry had been throwing a tantrum when they had arrived earlier, and in the rush to get checked in and get him into the room, where Neal could settle him and the public’s eardrums weren’t at risk, Isaac had barely noticed his surroundings. He’d forgotten why this hotel’s name had sounded familiar. Neal had gotten a good deal, theatre tickets and the rooms rolled in together. Isaac had had little to do with the organising.

Now, standing in the foyer, he knew why he’d felt so nostalgic upon their arrival: this was the hotel where, two years ago, he had hired an escort for the night, and met the love of his life.

It felt odd seeing everything the way it had been that night. In the day the bustling families and bright daylight had changed the ambiance, but by night the bar was the same, the light low and warm, the clientele a mix of women in cocktail dresses and men in sharp suits. It was quiet, calm, with most people having left the hotel for their evening. He wondered, walking through with his son and grandson, how many left behind had paid for the evening, as he had long ago.

He had gotten the better end of the bargain, he thought. He’d paid for a night of meaningless sex, a way to finally break his life-long celibacy, and he’d found true love.

Even if it was ending, nothing could take that away. What he felt for Belle was real, deep, eternal. It would never die, and so at least in some small way he would never lose her.

He hoped he could hold onto that, and not sink into fear and darkness and misery again. Belle had brought so much light into his world. He couldn’t bear to lose it, even if he had to let her go.

“Papa?” Neal frowned at him. He’d paused, staring at the bar, lost in thought. “You coming upstairs?”

“I think I’ll get a nightcap,” he said, surprising himself. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and Neal’s attempts to cheer him would only fall flat. “You go on ahead, get the little one to bed.”

“Okay,” Neal frowned. “But I’m still holding you to tradition, we order sundaes at midnight. Henry’s crib’s in another room, so you can come to mine without waking him up.”

Isaac nodded, almost able to smile. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll be up in a bit.”

Neal gave him another concerned look, but didn’t fight him. He took Henry into the elevator, and Isaac turned away, into the bar.

He ordered two fingers of their best Scotch. If this was to be his last night before his world ended, before the woman he loved more than life walked away forever, then at least a drink would ease its passing. If he sat here long enough, he could almost imagine it was two years ago, and the beginning of things. He could all but feel the adrenaline, see the bony, terrifying black widow sat beside him, and then feel the relief, the wonder, when that perfect, pale hand had appeared on his arm, and in that low voice she had said, “Mr Gold?”

He closed his eyes, and swallowed his scotch. If he held onto that, onto her, onto that perfect memory of her bright blue eyes and long, curling hair, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life, then he wouldn’t have to let go.

“Mr Gold?”

His imagination was good, he thought, he’d almost heard her that time. That, or the scotch was drugged. Either way, he’d happily live in the fantasy.

“Isaac?”

He frowned. She hadn’t known his name, when they first met. The hand on his arm was real, the voice sharper, insistent. He turned, and his eyes widened.

“Belle?”

She was here. She was real. He knew she was, because instead of that pretty blue dress and killer heels, she was wearing a big sweater and an old skirt with flats, and she wore no make-up. Her hair looked like she’d been running her hands through it, and her eyes were tired but bright. She didn’t look like an angel of light and mercy, as she had the night they met. She looked tired, and real, and honest. She looked like herself, which was so much better.

“I thought you hadn’t heard me,” she said. “Sorry, I was trying to… I don’t know, I saw you there, I thought-“

“I was thinking about you,” he said. “So I thought I was imagining things. I didn’t imagine you were actually _here_.”

He knew his face had taken on that soft, adoring expression he always wore around her. He couldn’t help it: he adored her.

“You booked our hotel,” she smiled.

“Neal did,” he corrected. “It was a coincidence.”

“Well, either way I’m glad,” she said. “I have such good memories of this place. Well, one night in this place.”

She smiled. He slipped off the chair as she took his hands, and pulled him away from the bar, to where it was a little quieter.

She didn’t speak. She was weighing him up, her lip back between her teeth. Her light faded again, and once again trepidation entered her eyes.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked. His throat bobbed, and he felt his happiness at seeing her solidify and cool into a lump of dread in his stomach, reality sinking in. For a moment, he’d forgotten what she was going to do, the next time they saw one another. He’d been so lost in his memory of the beginning that he’d forgotten the imminent end.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was brighter than it had been in days, in over a week. Was she so happy to be finally rid of him? “Yes, it is now.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, desperately hoping she had come for something else, any other reason but this. “If something happened I would have come home, you only had to call.”

“I told you,” she said, with a small shrug. A small smile played about her lips. “I can’t do this over the phone.”

His eyes widened, fear coursing through him. _Not here,_ he thought, _please don’t do this here: please don’t walk away from me here, where we were so happy_.

She was watching him, bright eyes fixed on his. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t listen to whatever she was going to say next. He needed it to be over, to be done. He needed to just live through the pain of watching her walk away so he could collapse in peace. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. If he had to drown, let it happen now.

“Belle, I know what you’re going to say,” he said. He took a deep breath; she cocked her head to one side, her listening pose. How could she not know? “It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand, you… you have a life to live. There’s a whole world out there waiting for you, and you have to go see it. I understand, I really do, don’t worry… I won’t cling on. I won’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Her head snapped upright. She was staring at him, as if she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t look happy, like he had released her from her burden; she looked like he’d slapped her.

He watched the emotions play over her beautiful face, her brow furrowing, her eyes narrowing. He tried to slide his customary mask into place, to prevent her from seeing how deeply this hurt. He wouldn’t have her stay out of pity or guilt. Did she have to make this so difficult? Even cruelty would have been easier than those soft blue eyes piercing his.

“Oh, love,” she shook her head, and covered her mouth with her hand. Her curls swayed, her eyes widened, “Oh god, you’re letting me go,” she whispered, as if horrified, as if her heart were broken.

“I am,” he said, and hated the note of finality in his own voice, how it shook. This had to happen. Did she have to make it so hard? Did she have to look so very, very sad, when she was the one walking away?

“Oh, you beautiful man,” she sighed. He couldn’t have been imagining the love in her eyes, could he? It was so raw, so real. “I really scared you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, Isaac. I promised you it was nothing to worry about, but I should have known you wouldn’t believe me.”

He blinked at her. He tried to speak, to question this strange reaction and to ask her what she meant, but two soft fingers came to cover his lips.

“I couldn’t do this over the phone,” she repeated. “And I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say, anyway. So I came to find you. I figured once you were standing in front of me it’d just… happen,”

He stared at her. She had returned to him, and it almost felt as if she had come back to herself, too. Gone was the guarded expression, the sense that there were words between them that went unsaid. He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time in forever. It was beautiful; _she_ was beautiful.

No matter what she had to say now, he could take it. He could take it knowing she’d come to find him, and that whatever decision she had come to, whatever had changed, it had made her happy again. Isaac would do anything to make Belle happy. Even if it meant he’d never see her again.

“I know now,” she said. “I didn’t before. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was selfish, and afraid, and I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. I know I frightened you,” she swallowed hard, and his heart lurched to see tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling. “I know I did, and it wasn’t fair. I’m still afraid, but I know what I want now.”

She lowered her fingers. His hands were shaking.

“Wh-what do you want?” he stammered, bracing his hands on his cane for balance, clinging on. The world around them blurred: all he could see was Belle, his whole life hanging on her answer.

“What I want is to be with you,” she breathed. Then, to his astonishment, he watched as she sank down to one knee, and covered his hand in both of hers. His heart was hammering in his chest, his fear rapidly turning into hope, blinding and unbelievable in his chest. How did she always do that? How could she turn the darkest storm into paradise?

“Isaac Gold, will you marry me?”

She was beaming up at him, her eyes full of love and shining. Her voice was shaking, but her smile never wavered, and it was real and bright, blinding him.

He didn’t know what to say. ‘Yes’ was not strong enough of a word, but none of this made sense. She had been so out of sorts, so miserable, pulling away. There was something he was missing, a piece of the puzzle that explained why Belle, who had yet to even commit to moving in with him, strong and independent and unwilling to be tied down, had gotten down on one knee to propose. “I… shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

She shook her head. “I need to know you want this,” she said. “I… our baby needs a family, Isaac. I want our baby to have a home that’s whole. If you don’t want to be with me I understand, we can find another way, but I have to know, I-“

“Our… what?” He gaped at her, his whole world spinning, and he felt himself stagger. He caught himself on a booth, and sank down into the seat. The world spun and shifted on its axis; he could barely see straight.

She was laughing, even as she caught his arms to steady his fall, and knelt before him, her hands in his. “I found out a week ago,” she told him. “I didn’t know what to tell you… it took me a while to come to terms with it. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew how I felt, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Things were sliding into place, and Isaac felt like he was feeling every emotion at once, unable to pin it down to a feeling. She was smiling, though. That worked as an anchor. He had been falling down a deep, dark chasm, and now he felt like he could fly. “That was what had you so upset,” he murmured, his lips numb. She nodded, her eyes softening, full of regret.

“I took the test a week ago,” she told him. “The morning after Emma told us she and Neal are expecting.” He nodded: he remembered. The bed had been empty when he woke up, and she’d been halfway out the door, shaken and pale.

“I remember,” he croaked. “You haven’t been yourself since.”

She nodded, and swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I didn’t know what I wanted, I didn’t want to trip and break anything I couldn’t replace. But you know me, Isaac. I mean, you really, really know me. I didn’t know what to say, or even what I _wanted_ to say, so…”

“You had to figure it out for yourself,” he finished, slowly. She clenched his hand in hers. Her smile was bright and fierce.

She nodded, “I realised when you were gone that want a life with you, Isaac,” she said. “And that’s terrifying, especially since I never thought I’d be a mother…”

“A mother,” he repeated, following along like a simpleton, unable to process more than one word at a time. He looked down at her, so in love with her he could burst. She was going to be a mother, the mother to _his_ child. He was going to be a father again.

“I was afraid, but you make me brave,” she told him, her eyes bright with fervour. “I went to your house tonight, and I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe. I tried to imagine a life without you, without being there to raise our child with you, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“You’re pregnant,” he said, his smile widening as his mind finally caught up with the words tumbling out of her mouth. Reality, beautiful and impossible, began to sink in. “You’re… we’re having a _baby_.”

She nodded, a wet, happy laugh coming from her mouth. “We are,” she nodded. “And I want to be married to you when we do. If we’re going to do this we’re going to do it right.”

He nodded, agreeing with every word. “Of course, of course, we’ll go buy rings tomorrow,” he promised. Her smile could have lit all of Boston.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes of _course_!” He hauled her toward him, and they almost fell back into the booth as their mouths collided in an urgent, passionate, messy kiss: the first kiss of the rest of their lives. Isaac clutched at her, his hand cupping her jaw as his other roamed her back, trying to pull her up and as close to him as she could get, so he’d never have to let go again. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands raking through his hair, nails digging into his scalp as she held him to her.

When they finally parted for breath, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “I love you,” he said, the only words he could think. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. “It’s the only thing I’m always sure of. It’s the only thing that got me through the past week. Knowing that I love you, and that you love me.”

“Always,” he promised.

She beamed, and kissed him again, a soft kiss that ended far too soon. She stood up and pulled away, still holding his hand. She helped him to his feet, and led him toward the elevators, the way she had that very first night. He followed as he had then, like a lost puppy, like she was his guiding light, his North Star. Her hand was strong and firm in his. She was grinning when they reached the elevator.

The moment the doors were closed, he had her pushed back against the wall of the elevator, his mouth covering hers. What he felt went beyond lust, beyond sex, beyond how beautiful she was: it was pure, unadulterated love, the kind of love that could never be satisfied, that made him desperate for more of her, for _all_ of her, to clutch at her and express with his body what words couldn’t. He never wanted to be apart from her, ever again.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, and he sighed at the familiar taste of her, drunk on her. She was holding onto him just as tightly, kissing him back as If she couldn’t bear to stop. The elevator dinged their floor far too soon: when it did, he had to pull away from her.

She was even more beautiful like this, he thought, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with desire but bright with joy, her hair as much a mess as his. The woman he had met here two years ago would never have let him see her like this, so raw and undone, so vulnerable. She hadn’t even let him know her real name. Lacey had been lovely, but Belle was exquisite, and he would spend the rest of his life happily trying to be worthy of her, of the trust she placed in him.

He led her out of the elevator, and down the hall to his room. There was no hesitation this time, no fear. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier in his entire life. His hands shook as he tried to open the door, and he heard her laugh.

“I remember this,” she said. “You were so nervous that night you couldn’t get the door open.”

“I was panicking,” he admitted. “I thought I would disappoint you, or you would laugh at me, or ask me to do something I couldn’t do. I was at rock bottom, and I never imagined…”

“Me neither,” she said, softly. Her hand squeezed his, unable and unwilling to let go. “I never thought we’d be here. I’m so happy we are.”

He wanted to kiss her again. The door finally opened, and they all but fell inside. He closed it behind them, and sighed with relief. They were finally alone.

She took a few steps inside, still not letting go of his hand. “It looks exactly like the one we had that night,” she said, softly. “Except I think the bathroom was on the left, not the right.”

“It’s the same hotel,” he reminded her. “They don’t tend to be overly creative.”

She nodded. “I was so lonely back then,” she said. She turned to face him. He wondered if she’d ever told him in detail how she’d felt that night, and realised she hadn’t. He had filled in the blanks on his own, but now he was hungry for details. He would never get enough of her; he would always be greedy for more. “I was afraid of moving to a town where I knew no one, leaving everything I knew behind. But honestly, there wasn’t much here I had to leave behind. I had friends, but I had no connections that mattered. I hadn’t loved anyone properly in such a long time. And then I met you.”

“I was terrified of you,” he replied, unable to keep the smile from his face. It seemed so ridiculous now, to be afraid of her, of this woman he loved so much, who might be just as flawed and confused and scared as he was, but he had been. He still was, he supposed, but only in the way one should fear a force of nature. He was in awe of her. “I thought you would eat me alive.”

“And I did,” she grinned, eyes sparkling. “You just didn’t expect to enjoy it.”

She winked, outrageously, and he laughed at that, the freest sound he thought had ever come from his throat. “I fell in love with you that night,” he told her. “I had never met anyone like you. You’re so kind, so clever… you were beautiful and funny and a little wild. The moment I looked into your eyes, I never stood a chance.”

Her face flushed, and he remembered that night, the moments when he’d sworn he saw her blush a little before she caught herself. Now, she didn’t try to hide it. “You’re lethal, you know that?” she murmured, her eyes slipping from his, an uncontrollable smile on her face. “I’m amazed my dress stayed on as long as it did, with you talking like that.”

He snickered, and lifted her hand to his lips, so he could kiss her knuckles. He met her eyes, and grinned. “The moment you unhinged your jaw to devour that cheeseburger, I was lost.”

A laugh bubbled from her chest, helpless and surprised. She shook her head, “I still don’t know why I did that,” she said. “I wanted to make you comfortable, but it wasn’t about that. I knew what I was doing. If I’d been doing my job, I would have asked what your favourite food was, and claimed it was mine too.”

“But you didn’t,” he said. She shook her head, curls swaying.

“No,” she agreed. “Because as much as I wanted to give you what you needed, what you’d paid for, I also wanted you to see me. I wanted _someone_ to see me, to know me for who I really was. I needed it, even if it was just for the night.” She stepped closer, and closer again, until her periwinkle eyes were so close he could count her eyelashes.

“That was what I needed,” he said. “I’m so lucky you let me, even if it was just by chance. Nothing else would have worked. No one could have broken down those walls the way you did.”

She nodded. She swallowed hard, and he saw tears glittering in her eyes. “I didn’t even know how lonely I was, until I met you and I wasn’t anymore.”

“I knew I was lonely,” he replied, softly. She’d stepped closer again, and he raised his hand to her cheek, and brushed a tear away with his thumb. “I just didn’t know that I didn’t have to be.”

She shook her head, smiling his favourite smile, her lips pressed together as if she were swallowing a laugh. She took his other hand, and pressed it to the flat of her belly. “Never again,” she promised. “Neither of us ever has to be lonely again.”

He fanned out his fingers over her stomach, and felt something deep and strong, soft and warm and devoted, rise up and overwhelm him. She was carrying his child. There would be a baby, with his eyes and her smile, her laughter and hopefully not his nose. They would be a family.

He seized her lips in a searing kiss, not knowing how else to express all that he felt. They staggered back, his hands on her hips, her mouth working against his to remove any coherent thought. He imagined he could feel their baby beneath his palm, already awake, already waiting to meet them. She couldn’t be more than a month along, it could hardly be called a baby yet, and yet he already loved it. He crushed her against him, the kiss turning to a deep embrace. His arms were full of his family, and he felt his heart would burst.

“I thought you were leaving,” he confessed, his face buried in her throat. He kissed her there, up along the column of her neck, every little place he had so carefully mapped the first night they’d spent together. She shivered all over.

“Never,” she promised. “I was so afraid I was going to run and ruin everything and lose you, because I was scared of what this all meant. I was scared I would fail and ruin everything. But then I realised that that same fear meant I wouldn’t lose you. It meant I would fight to keep you beside me, and fight for our child, because the alternative is too awful to think about.”

He nodded: he knew what she meant. The thought of losing her was more than he could bear. He’d been carrying it for the past week, and it had nearly destroyed him.

She gasped as he sucked on her pulse point, hard enough to draw a bruise. The mark would fade, but she would still be his. From tomorrow she would wear his ring, and everyone would know. Soon her belly would grow and round, and the evidence of their love, of their growing family, would be plain to see. He couldn’t wait. Belle might not trust herself, but he did: she would be a wonderful mother. Their child was so lucky to have her.

She pulled him by his hair back up, and kissed him deeply as her hands worked at his tie, loosening the knot and casting it aside.

“I can move in, right?” she said, her mouth muffled against his lips. it was a ridiculous question at this point: the thought of going back to Storybrooke and dropping her off at that little flat of hers, despite the ring on her finger and the child growing within her and the life they both wanted together, was unthinkable.

He nodded, fiercely. “I insist,” he said. “It’s all I’ve wanted, Belle. All I want is you.”

“Good,” she laughed, and kissed him again, deep and desperate, until they were gasping for air. “Because I never want to be apart from you again,” she said, her forehead rested against his. He blinked back tears, and she smiled, cupping his face in her hands, “Hey,” she breathed, “Hey, look at me. We’re together now.”

He nodded, and she kissed him again, as much to distract him as anything else, he thought. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her body pressed flush against his, and he was overwhelmed, swallowed up in her. His arms wrapped tight around her, clutching at her, desperate for more.

“You wear too many clothes,” she breathed, parting from another kiss. “You look so handsome in those suits, but clichéd as it may be, they look better on the floor.”

He laughed against her lips, and for once couldn’t agree more. Even his insecurities, his hatred of his body, couldn’t dampen this moment. He needed them skin-to-skin, nothing more between them. Anything Belle wanted, she would have. She had already given him everything.

He shrugged the jacket from his shoulders, thankful that today he had foregone a waistcoat. He dragged her jumper up over her head and threw it aside, thankfully taking her camisole with it. She yanked her sports bra off over her head, and the moment she was free, she attacked his shirt buttons. He was arrested, as always, by the sudden baring of her chest.

She looked up, mirth gleaming in her eyes. “I really broke you,” she snorted. “You were so innocent before we met.”

She always found it so funny, how interested he was in her breasts. Here, in this room, he needed her to understand why.

“The first moment I started to believe you might actually want me,” he said, running his hand lightly over her waist, her stomach, up her ribs, “Was when you taught me how to pleasure you here, and it worked.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over the curve of her breast, feeling her nipple pucker at the light contact. Her eyes were closed; he felt her gasp. “It was the first time I had ever felt wanted, that way,” he continued. “And the first time I had ever wanted anyone, in that way. It was a revelation. It was when I knew everything would be okay, as long as I was with you. That’s why I stare.”

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his. “I’d never had a partner pay attention to me like that,” she said. “Not without it being more about having something to prove, anyway. It was a revelation to me, too.” A wicked gleam he adored entered into her eyes, “But I had wanted you from the moment I saw you,” she said. “You were so gorgeous in that suit, with your long fingers and your dark eyes. I never had any trouble wanting you.”

“How could I not pay attention to you?” he asked, mystified. She’d talked about it before; he knew how selfish most of her partners had been, and how selfish she had learned to be in response. He still didn’t understand it: Belle was the most generous, loving person he knew, and he couldn’t see how anyone who was lucky enough to have her wouldn’t want to give her the world. He was blinded by love, he supposed, and happily so. “You’re perfect. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. All I ever want is more of you.”

She blushed; he had the pleasure of seeing it spread down her neck and over her collarbones.

“I’m not even wearing any make-up,” she murmured. “And I dressed for a night in by myself.” She plucked at her old jumper, and snorted softly through her nose. “You’re lucky I brushed my hair.”

He shook his head, “You’re always stunning,” he said. “There’s a light in you that radiates out. Your heart is so beautiful, nothing could ever hide it.”

“You said things like that that night,” she said, her eyes on his shirt and not on his, as if she were embarrassed. “You were so attentive, even though we’d only just met. It was like you really cared about how I felt, and you didn’t even _know_ me.”

He shook his head: for once she was wrong. “It didn’t feel that way to me,” he told her. “I felt like I’d known you my whole life. You were the most genuine person I’d ever met. That was why I fell in love with you: I felt like I knew you, even after only a few hours. I knew I was safe with you.”

Belle had his shirt unbuttoned, and her eyes slid up to meet his. “I felt that too,” she told him. “I felt like no one had ever seen me the way you did. That was why I left you my number,” she admitted. “I got ready to leave, and I was already missing you. I felt like I’d been missing you my whole life. I didn’t want to go out the door, and go back to a world where no one saw me. I didn’t want to be alone in the world again.”

“If I have my way, you’ll never feel alone again,” he told her, honestly. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said. He shook his head: she was insane if she thought that.

“I’ve spent most of my life afraid of one thing or another,” he said. “I’ve run from my fears, over and over again. I’m small, and weak, and far too dependent on fear and power to provide strength I know I don’t have. That you even speak to me is more than I’ll ever deserve.”

She shook her head, an odd pain behind her eyes. “You’re an idiot,” she said, but she said it so fondly he couldn’t help but smile.

“ _Your_ idiot,” he said, his voice coming out tentative and hopeful. Dear God, he wanted to be hers. She grinned, and nodded.

“All mine,” she agreed. With that, she pulled the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, and he shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor with his jacket.

He tugged her close, sighing with relief to feel her skin finally pressed flush to his, and kissed her again as he pulled down the zipper on the back of her skirt. She had to break away to wriggle out of it. She sat down on the bed to pull her tights off her feet and kick off her flats.

“I should have dressed up,” she apologised. “Proposals are supposed to be romantic. I’m not very good at that.”

“You’re perfect just as you are,” he said. He’d keep saying it until she believed it, even if it took the rest of his life.

She looked up at him, and for a moment she thought he almost believed him. Then she was attacking his belt with both hands, her eyes gleaming wicked.

“Let me make up for the last week of anxiety, hmm?” she suggested. He didn’t know what she meant until she had him in her hand, his trousers and underwear pooled at his feet, and he almost jumped out of his skin at the sensation. He never asked for this, but sometimes she offered and he was only a man, he could only resist so much. She seemed to enjoy it, too, or at least the effect it had on him.

She guided his hands to her hair, and stroked her hand down his length, the sudden pleasure a shock to the system. He felt her huff of laughter over the head of his cock as his eyes fluttered closed, a groan leaving his throat. Her hot little hand stroked him at his base, and she leaned in to kiss the head of him, taking it into her mouth and giving a quick suck.

“Belle!” he cried. She giggled, his cock still in her mouth, and the sensation vibrating through him was indescribable. The sound that came from his throat was only halfway human. She sucked again, fluttering her tongue and hollowing her cheeks. Pleasure shot through him, and his knees shook. His fingers tightened in her hair, and she moaned at the sensation.

She took him lower down, as deep as she could go, until he was halfway down her throat and wrapped in hot, tight, wet softness, and he worried he would climax right then.

She slid back up again, her soft tongue stroking as she went, and he keened, clutching at her head and trying not to thrust instinctively into her mouth. She was positively lethal, and he was suddenly reminded he was at a distinct disadvantage: she was a former professional, and knew a hundred ways to drive a mere mortal like him out of his mind.

“I love you,” he moaned, an embarrassing little sound, and she made a soft noise of assent as she slid back down him again, sucking as she released him faster this time. She dove back down and sucked hard, stroking the tip of her tongue along the vein on the underside of his shaft, and he had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out.

“I love you too,” she said, as she surfaced for air. He looked down at her, her cheeks a little flushed, her tongue darting out to lap a bead of fluid from the end of his cock, her hair mussed from his hands. She was a vision from a dirty magazine, any man’s fantasy, but somehow she had chosen him, and somehow he got to see the woman beneath it all. Somehow this beautiful, wicked, shining creature, this unbelievable woman, loved him, and was carrying his child. They were engaged, and expecting a baby.

He was so in love with her, so full of joy, he didn’t know what to do with it all.

He didn’t want to take his pleasure from her selfishly, however willingly it was offered. He wanted to be joined with her, to be so close to her he could pretend he never had to let go again. He wanted to be tangled up with her, until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He wanted to drive her out of her mind, so she could understand a fraction of the joy she gave him every day she smiled at him.

Gently, Isaac disentangled his hands from her soft curls. He leaned down, his cock protesting the loss of her hand and mouth even as he rejoiced to be eye-to-eye with her again. He kissed her, and tasted himself in her mouth. She moaned as he stroked his tongue over her palate, a trick she had taught him, and he felt her hands return to his hair.

His hand came under her waist, and between them they managed to crawl and wriggle backward until her hair was fanned against the pillows, and his body was covering hers, nothing between them but her underwear.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, and he nodded, his hand sliding down over her belly, over where their child was beginning to grow, and into her underwear. She was already wet, and he marvelled yet again at how that happened, how he had somehow tricked this wonderful woman into wanting him.

He stroked a finger between her folds, teasing, slowly, and she moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. He spread her wetness, gently, slowly, building her up. He stroked over her clit, and she let out a soft, high whimper, her hips shaking.

He slipped lower, two fingers breaching her and seeking the spot inside her that made her see stars, as his thumb found her clit again. She liked it when he rubbed the callous he’d developed from spinning against her, the roughness providing friction. She was bucking and keening against him, and he felt an answering throb deep down below.

He felt it when she fell apart, as she surged up and muffled her cry against his lips, her hips jerking and bucking, her walls clenching around his fingers. He slipped out of her as she came down, and met her eyes as he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked her juices off of them. He loved how she tasted, the evidence of her desire for him and his ability to please her.

Her eyes widened, pupils blown wide with desire. “God that’s hot,” she murmured, and grabbed at his hair to pull him down and kiss her taste from his mouth. He shifted back so she could wriggle out of her underwear.

“So graceful,” he murmured, as she threw her knickers to join their clothes on the floor. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“It’s only gonna get worse,” she warned. “When I’m fat as a whale and complaining about my swelling ankles, you’re gonna miss the days when I was goddamn sexy.”

“I can’t wait,” he told her, honestly. “You’ll still be beautiful, and it’ll be our child growing in here,” he smoothed his hand in circles over her belly. She swallowed, hard, and nodded.

“Our baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Isaac, we’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” he agreed, blinking, beaming, still not able to believe it was real. She nodded, and her hand came to cup his cheek, to kiss him. Her kiss was at odds with the urgency from before, slow and sweet and deep, full of love.

His hands cupped her face, holding her in place for his kiss, and her hands found his hair yet again. He chuckled against her mouth; she pulled away, quirking her eyebrows.

“You’re thinking about me getting fat, aren’t you?” she accused. He shook his head.

“No,” he denied. “I was thinking how you mock me for being preoccupied with your breasts, when your hands are always in my hair.”

“Oh,” she bit her lip, and deliberately ran her hand through his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp until he had the urge to purr like some overgrown housecat. “Well, it’s so soft, and so lovely to tug on,” she demonstrated, and he let a soft growl slip from his throat. “You can’t blame a girl for taking advantage.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for getting distracted by your chest, then,” he returned, and deliberately leaned down to kiss one of her rosy nipples. A little whine came from the back of Belle’s throat. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, as he teased her, “And you make such lovely noises, and you feel so good under my hands. How am I supposed to resist?”

She moaned and wriggled, seemingly as stirred by his words as by his actions. He tried to make a mental note of that, and wondered if he should try talking more in bed in general. He had so much he wanted to say to her.

“Fucking lethal,” she gasped, as he released her nipple from between his lips with a slick ‘pop’.

He moved lower, and she sighed and shifted as he palmed one breast and suckled at the other, scraping his teeth gently over the peak, her little cry music to his ears. He did the same on the other side, pinching and rolling one while kissing the other, and she was panting, her hands scratching his scalp.

He moved lower still, down her ribs, until he could rest his cheek to her flat stomach and kiss the soft skin near her navel. Their child slept beneath, he thought, and he felt another crashing wave of love knock the breath out of him. She stroked his hair, her fingers soft and gentle as he kissed her belly, over and over, worshipping her. She was so soft, so warm, her skin scented with vanilla and the salt of her sweat. He could stay there forever, he thought, if she’d let him.

But he also wanted to feel her fall apart around him again. He moved his kisses slowly down to her hips, and lower still.

She was still swollen and wet from his fingers, so sensitive it took only a few swipes of his tongue over her bud and her soaked folds to make her shudder and moan. “Isaac!” she cried out, and he felt a surge of something at hearing his own name in that wrecked, beautiful voice.

He couldn’t hold himself back: he worshipped her, licking and sucking at her until she was releasing breathy little cries on every exhalation, her hips bucking against his mouth. He slipped his tongue into her entrance, and it was exquisite to feel her clench on him, to taste her fluids bathing his mouth as his calloused thumb returned to her clit. He had to grind his hips against the mattress to find a little relief, desperate to be inside her, to be joined with her. He wanted to hear her crying out in pleasure again first, though. He wanted to give her everything she wanted, to lose himself in her. He loved her so much it transcended words, and this was all he could think of to do to express it.

She screamed when he swirled his tongue over her clit, and thrust three fingers into her channel. A moment later, he felt a rush of wetness over his hand, and her body bucked and clenched around him, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as she rode out her orgasm against him. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, so lovely inside and out he still couldn’t believe she loved him as he loved her.

She dropped back against the mattress, breathing hard, her chest heaving. She dragged him by his hair back up to face her, and kissed him deeply, her lips loose and their kissing messy and passionate.

She rolled him onto his back, straddling him. “I need you,” she panted against his mouth. “I love you.”

He nodded, as desperate as she looked. He needed to be inside her, to be joined with her. “We don’t even need protection,” she reminded him, grinning against his mouth. “You already knocked me up.”

 

She was sliding against him, her juices wetting his cock, and he groaned at the sensation, suddenly a hairsbreadth from coming off right there. She was so hot, so slick, so soft and warm and perfect against him.

She guided him inside her, and he felt the world crash around him, the sensation so intense he could barely breathe. She moaned, low and deep in her throat, as he filled her. “That’s right,” she panted, “Oh, fuck, yes, that’s right.”

She rocked against him, her breasts pressed to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she could barely move they were pressed so tight but that was perfect, that was wonderful. He didn’t need anything but this: her limbs wrapped around him, every inch of her pressed to every inch of him with nothing left between them, nothing to separate them ever again. Time slowed, became elastic with her wrapped around him like this. Pleasure took a back seat to the sensation of being joined with her, with the woman he loved more than anything.

“I love you,” he breathed into her ear, “My Belle, my love, how I love you.”

“I know,” she sounded wrecked, raw, as if she couldn’t believe it. “I love you too.”

He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply. He was buried inside her, and the pleasure was exquisite and soul-deep, as if this was exactly where he was always meant to be.

Then she shifted a little, and the angle changed, and all thought or reason flew from his mind. She was grinding against him, panting and moaning on every in-stroke, and he grit his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek, desperate to make her come around him, to bring her pleasure one more time before he lost his mind.

“Belle, I’m going to-“ he panted, unable to get the words out, “I can’t, I’”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” she breathed, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, every part of him she could find. “Let go for me, it’s okay, I love you so much, my Isaac, I want to feel you come for me, please…”

He couldn’t hold back: he slammed up inside her with a harsh cry, and the world collapsed as pleasure roared through him, the tide breaking and fireworks bursting through him as he rode out his climax inside her, pulsing and burning and breaking. He felt her clenching around him, rubbing feverishly at her own folds as she followed him over the brink, screaming her own release.

She collapsed against him, shuddering with aftershock, and for a moment he lay boneless on the bed, his eyes closed and his whole body softening around her. They were still connected, and for a long minute he wished he’d never have to leave her again, that he could remain buried in her wonders forever.

Then she shifted onto her side behind him, her arms still wrapped tight around his chest, and he felt himself slip out of her. She kissed his chest, his collarbone, her lips soft and loose, all urgency gone as the storm passed.

He turned on his side to face her, and his eyes slipped open to see her drowsing beside him, her whole face relaxed, a satiated smile on her face.

He fumbled above her head for the switch, and finally turned off the lights, plunging them into contented darkness. She pulled the blankets over them as he moved back down onto the bed. Once they were settled, she snuggled closer, her head pillowed on his chest. He held her close, hugging her to him with a hand on her hip, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I love you,” he said again. He’d never get enough of saying it. She nodded.

“I meant what I said,” she said, her voice heavy, softened with exhaustion. “That’s the only thing that always feels real.” She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. Here in the dark and stillness after their reunion, sweat cooling and muscles loose and soft, it felt as if he could say anything, and so could she. He hoped she would: he’d felt so lost these past days, in her silence. “I’m still so scared,” she whispered. “But I trust that you love me, if nothing else.”

“Everything will be okay,” he told her, the optimistic words coming unfamiliar to his lips, but they felt right. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, soothingly. “You’ll see. We’ll be a family.”

“You really believe that?” she asked, and he felt the world hinged on his answer.

“I do,” he said, with absolute conviction. “If nothing else, I believe in you.”

“We… we both know it’s not a given that parents will love their children,” she said, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as she gave voice to her greatest, deepest fear. He didn’t brush it away, didn’t let an easy platitude come to his lips. She was right: one couldn’t take family for granted. Blood was no guarantee of belonging.

“I know,” he said. “But I also know you. You have the best heart of anyone I’ve ever met,” he told her, honestly. “You have an endless capacity for love.”

“I’m not like you,” she shook her head. “I had never been in love until you, no matter how many people I’d been with.”

“There’s many different kinds of love, Belle,” he reminded her. “What I feel for Neal or for Henry is nothing like what I feel for you. I imagine what you felt for your mother is nothing like it either.”

“No,” she murmured, lost in thought. “No, this is different.”

“I didn’t love Neal, when I first met him in the hospital,” he confided, gently. “I… I just knew he needed a home, and I felt too guilty to say no. I went through the motions: I fed him, I took him to the school bus; I made him do his homework and went to parent-teacher night. We became friends, and we were all each other had in the world, but it wasn’t until that night we went to the Nutcracker that I felt like we were a family.”

“Why?” Belle asked. “What tipped it?”

“We were both terrified of the icy roads,” Isaac sighed, stroking a hand in lazy strokes down her back, soothed by her soft skin beneath his hand. “But I pretended I wasn’t, so he wouldn’t be. I hadn’t felt like a parent until then. When I finally put him to bed that night, he called me papa. He was so sleepy, I’m sure he doesn’t even remember, but I do. That was when I loved him, almost a year after I met him.”

“But you still looked after him before that,” Belle said. Isaac nodded.

“It’s probably harder with a baby,” he admitted. “A baby can’t make jokes, or hold a conversation, or use the bathroom unattended. But the principle is the same. You choose to fight for your child, you choose to protect and care for them, and you choose to love them. You choose to because the alternative is unthinkable. Eventually, after minutes or months, it becomes instinct.”

“Okay,” Belle nodded against his chest. “I… I can do that.”

“It won’t be perfect,” he said. “It never is. I adore Neal, but I could have killed him, every night I spent bailing him out of the county jail.” She huffed a laugh against his chest; a smile came to his lips. “Belle, I’m afraid of so many things. I’m afraid of injury, sickness, weakness, humiliation, death… but I’m not afraid that you won’t be a good mother. You said it yourself: I know you. And so I know that if you want to be, you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“I want to be,” she said, softly.

He kissed the top of her head again, “That’s a good place to start,” he said. She nodded. He felt her press a kiss to his chest, and her breathing begin to even out as she slipped into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Two years earlier_

Isaac Gold was dead to the world.

Belle eased herself out from his embrace, and he only snuffled in his sleep, rolling over onto his other side. She almost wished he had awoken, noticed her leaving, but it was better this way. He looked so peaceful, lying there in the early morning sunlight, his face relaxed and his hair a mess. She didn’t think he was someone who slept well often, if at all. Poor sweetheart.

She caught herself, and stepped back, pulling her dress on over her head. Would this have happened, she wondered, if she’d shown up rough and ready in her blue sequins and killer heels, her mask firmly in place? Would she be finding it this hard to leave, if she’d been Lacey last night in spirit as well as in name?

Belle swallowed hard, and caught herself staring at him again. He was so beautiful, all rumpled and careworn. She didn’t know what she’d expected, when she’d seen his expensive dark suit at the bar. Mal had told her to expect hesitance, to go gentle, but she had thought he was likely a recent divorcee, or an executive in need of some TLC.

She hadn’t expected a forty-five year old virgin, with the sharpest mind and purest heart she’d ever seen. She hadn’t expected him to want to know her, or to _want_ him to know her. She hadn’t expected his attentiveness, or his tentative devotion, or how genuine it all had felt.

Belle sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. She hadn’t been Lacey since the moment he’d begged her not to lie to him, and she’d shown him more of herself in an hour than she’d shown her closest friends.

It was just nostalgia, she told herself. She was afraid of giving up the one part of her life that guaranteed human connection, for a life in a small town where everyone might hate her. She was holding on because she was afraid to let go, and it was nothing to do with Isaac Gold and his warm smile and soft dark eyes.

How easy would it be, she wondered, to crawl back into bed beside him and pretend to oversleep? To wake in the morning and tell him her real name, and her phone number, and her new address in Storybrooke, Maine? He lived in Maine too, she remembered: perhaps he’d be willing to drive an hour to come visit.

She swallowed hard, and forced herself to focus on texting Mal to let her know she was leaving.

Who would want to wake up next to a prostitute who had overstayed her welcome? He had a life to get back to, with a family and a home and a whole world she could never be part of. A world she didn’t _want_ to be part of. What did she know about family, anyway?

Even if he wanted her to stay, eventually he would want things she couldn’t give him. He’d get upset about her sexual history, or he’d get possessive, or he’d become jealous the moment another man smiled at her. And even if he turned out to be everything she thought he was, the one man in a million who could accept her for who she was, baggage and all, and want her anyway… eventually, he would want a wife. He would want a partner, and probably a mother for his children too. He’d want it all, and she’d never wanted any of it.

He was looking for love. And what did lonely, rootless Belle French know about that?

Better that he move on, taking with him everything she had so happily taught him, and find someone who could appreciate everything he had to offer.

Better that he find a woman who could look after his heart, and give him her own in return. Belle’s was locked up so tight she had no idea how to reach it herself, much less give it to someone else. She would only disappoint him. He would give her everything, just as he had the night before, only to discover she had nothing to give in return.

Belle had never been in love. Even now, half her interest in him was in repeating what they’d done last night. She didn’t need him to commit to her, or love her, or hold her all night or shower her in roses. The thought of those things made her break out in a cold sweat. If this continued, he would fall in love with her, and she would break his heart. She couldn’t bear that. Better she never got the chance.

She repeated it, over and over, as she washed her face and pulled on her stockings, as she buckled her shoes and brushed her hair. Her eyes kept wandering back to his handsome face, loose and peaceful in sleep.

She felt as if she’d known him forever, not just for twelve hours. She would miss him terribly when she walked out that door, and never saw him again.

Was it possible she had been wrong, just like he had been? He’d thought he could never enjoy sex, that at best it would be the price of a relationship and at worst a terrible ordeal. She had proven him wrong: she’d known by the time they were naked that she’d broken through his fears, and made him desire her. He’d done remarkably well, too, especially for a nervous virgin. It was amazing what patience, understanding, and communication could accomplish. What a shame she would never get to nurture that talent. Sex with him would be phenomenal after a few more attempts.

He was patient, too, she thought. He understood, and when he felt comfortable he could communicate well. He wanted to know her, he wanted to listen: she had felt it. He had cared about her without question, before he’d even known the first thing about her. He had wanted to make her happy, more than he had wanted or expected the same in return. He was lonely, and yet he had seen her loneliness too, and tried to help her even as he paid her to help him.

He was clever, and sweet, and wonderful, one of a kind. She wanted to see him again, even if it was just to get a hamburger or go for a walk, something innocent and ordinary. How long had it been, since Belle had wanted to sit still? The thought was terrifying, and yet she couldn’t let it go. She wanted to sit next to him.

Unbidden, her mother’s voice came into her mind, low and soft and loving: “Do the brave thing, my love, and bravery will follow.”

Belle was about to jump off a cliff. Would it be so awful, she thought, to have a hand to hold on the way down?

She took a sheet of hotel paper from the dresser, and scribbled a note before she had time to second-guess herself. Perhaps, in the course of creating a new life and a new self, she could make a new heart.

Even if they were just friends, a life with Isaac Gold in it had to be better than a life without.

She would leave it up to him, as she had before. She would let him set the pace. If he wanted to call, he would. If he didn’t, then at least she’d have this one last, good memory of Boston to keep her company in Storybrooke, all alone.

She left the note on the pillow. Then, with one last look, she crept from that warm, dark hotel room, and back into the real world.

\---

The phone ringing broke Belle from her slumber.

Isaac was awake. She was spooned up behind him, and his arm was free to fumble and answer the phone. “Hello?”

She heard voices on the other end. He sat up, and she sat with him, still slung across his back. She didn’t want to let go.

Everything felt better, with him. She didn’t know how she had been so stupid this past week, avoiding him. He was the only one she ever wanted to talk to when she was afraid, or lonely, or miserable. She had promised herself as she drove through the night to find him that she’d never make that mistake again.

“Oh, Bae I’m sorry,” Isaac mumbled. “I lost track of time.”

Belle frowned, and then suddenly remembered that Isaac hadn’t come to Boston alone. Neal and Henry were probably right next-door… and they’d made a lot of noise in the past few hours. She flushed to her roots, and let go of Isaac, sinking under the covers. At least her soon-to-be stepson hadn’t walked in on them _in flagrante_.

“Belle’s here,” Isaac was explaining. “I- oh,” even in the dark, Belle could see the tips of his ears turn red. “I’m sorry about that, Neal,” Isaac said. “If you give us five minutes, we can come next door and explain.”

Isaac hung up, and ran his hands over his face. He looked down at Belle, who looked back, blinking over the top of the blankets pulled over her face. She broke first: she couldn’t stop her helpless giggles, and soon Isaac was joining her, huge belly laughs that brought tears to his eyes.

“I forgot all about them,” Belle confided, a hand pressed over her mouth to stifle the noise. “I should have kept it down.”

Isaac shook his head, “He didn’t know it was us, when it was happening,” he assured her. “He started complaining about a couple enjoying themselves next door, and then put two and two together.”

“Did I keep you from him?” Belle asked, concerned. “I didn’t mean to break up your time together.”

“We’re supposed to order sundaes from the room service at midnight,” Isaac explained. “We did it the first time, so we do it every time now. You’re invited.”

“I don’t know if I can face him,” Belle groaned. Isaac snickered, and tugged the sheet from over her face to kiss her.

“He’ll forget all about it when we tell him the good news,” he said. Belle bit her lip, and nodded.

“I hope so,” she said. “Because otherwise I’m not going to be able to look him in the eye.”

They got dressed quickly, trying not to look too hard at each other to keep from laughing. Belle didn’t think she’d ever been happier, and every time she looked at him it only increased. Isaac looked like a new man, every crease on his face turned to a laughter line. He looked as if he could fly, and Belle knew the feeling. She felt like they had jumped off the edge of a cliff together, and with his hand in hers they were soaring toward the skyline.

He took her hand, and led her next door. Neal answered the door on the first knock, looking uneasy. “Okay,” he said, rubbing his eyes and letting them in. “Let’s get this out of the way: I’m glad you guys made up, but I didn’t need to hear it.”

“Bae, I forgot you were next door,” Isaac said. “I’m so sorry for making you listen to that, I-“

“Papa, it’s fine,” Neal put up a hand. “Let’s just forget about it, okay? Put it in the same box as when you caught Tamara Johnson and I in the back of the Cadillac in tenth grade? The ‘it never happened so we don’t have to talk about it’ box?”

Isaac grimaced, and Belle watched with fascination, determined to ask about that the moment she got the chance. “Deal,” Isaac said. They shook hands, and the tension lifted.

Neal looked at her, and Belle held his gaze and refused to blush. “You feeling better?” he asked. Belle nodded.

“Much,” she grinned. “We, ah, we have some news.”

Neal’s eyes flicked between them. Belle looked at Isaac expectantly: if anyone was going to tell Neal, it should be him.

“Is this about whatever it is you told Emma that she’s not telling me?” he asked, warily. “Because she knows something I don’t and she’s been insufferable about it for days.”

Isaac frowned at Belle, “You told Emma before you told me?”

“She guessed,” Belle shrugged. “And he made me talk to her.” She gestured to Neal.

Neal shrugged, “I was trying to help,” he said. “What did she guess?”

Belle beamed, unable to hold it in any longer. Now Isaac knew, now the future seemed bright and clear and everything felt warm again, it seemed she had no problem with telling people. “I’m pregnant,” she said, all but bouncing on her toes. “And we’re getting married.”

Neal’s jaw dropped. “Congratulations!” he said, and hauled his father in for a huge hug. Isaac looked like he might start to cry as he hugged him back.

Belle didn’t expect to then be pulled in by Neal’s free arm, so that Isaac was wedged between them, Neal’s hand on her shoulder, her forehead pressed to Isaac’s. “Welcome to the family,” he said to her, grinning “Mom.”

Belle smiled around a lump in her throat. For the first time, that was what it felt like: family. “Keep calling me that and you’ll get a time out,” she muttered, trying for disgruntled and managing none of it. She couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m six months younger than you.”

Neal shook his head, unrepentant. “Nope! Henry’s gonna call you grandma.”

“How did I raise such an insufferable brat?” Isaac muttered, fondly. Neal shrugged.

“Got lucky I guess,” he said. “Maybe you’ll do better this time around.”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I gotta check on Henry before we order the sundaes,” Neal said, finally breaking out of their embrace. He headed for the door to the adjoining room, where Henry was asleep. “You guys go ahead and order. Please don’t do anything on my bed before I get back.”

“Brat,” Isaac muttered again, but his smile was fond.

“I meant it,” Neal said, before he left the room, looking back at Belle. “Welcome to the family, Belles.”

Belle felt warm to her toes. Isaac’s hand took hers again, and she felt ten feet tall.

\---

_One year later_

Isaac fumbled with his tie for the fiftieth time, the nervous tension in his stomach almost more than he could bear. He didn’t think he’d ever been this anxious in his life.

“You have been,” Neal reminded him, and he realised he’d said that thought aloud. As his best man, Neal’s job was to keep his father from losing his mind. “You were a hundred times worse than this when you married Mila.”

“Look how well that went,” Isaac muttered.

“Yeah, you got divorced and met Belle,” Neal shot back. “What a tragedy.”

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” Isaac shook his head. “This won’t change anything. It only makes legal what’s already true.”

“Exactly,” Neal agreed. “So relax.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” Neal called, when Isaac found his throat didn’t work.

Belle’s head poked around the door. “Hey.”

“Belle!” Isaac squawked, and turned around. “I shouldn’t see you before the ceremony!”

“Oh shut up,” Belle said, fondly. “As if we’re going all conventional now.”

“Do you want some privacy?” Neal asked. Isaac heard the smile in Belle’s voice even as he refused to turn around.

“Yes, please,” she said. “But I’ll only be a moment.”

“It’s okay,” Neal said. “I should probably go check Henry hasn’t eaten all the rose petals or drawn on Emma’s dress or something. You want me to take Gideon with me?”

“No, it’s okay, pass him here.” Isaac heard shuffling, as Neal handed his baby brother to his mother. The door opened and closed again as he left. Isaac still kept his eyes firmly shut.

“Isaac, look at me,” she said. He shook his head.

“The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes,” he said. “You should be getting ready.”

“I am ready,” she said, softly. “But I wanted to see you before it starts. Please?”

“Isn’t it bad luck?” he asked.

“What does luck have to do with it?” she asked. “We’ve come this far without tradition. But if you really don’t want to… colour?”

“Green,” he murmured. She was right: nothing about them was conventional, so why start now?

He opened his eyes, and was glad he had the moment he saw her. She was radiant, breathtaking, and once again he couldn’t believe she was marrying him. Her wedding dress only accentuated her beauty. She’d filled out a little since her pregnancy, and the dress flattered her perfectly, with a sweetheart neckline and beaded bodice. It dipped at her narrow waist into a long, silky skirt that flared over her hips, and ended in a short train.

That she was holding their baby son in her arms only completed the image. She looked like an angel, and his heart swelled with adoration for her, for both of them.

The moment Belle had set eyes on Gideon, exhausted in the hospital after long hours in labour, she had fallen in love. She had held him until she’d fallen asleep, murmuring promises to him as Isaac held them both. Since then, she had barely put him down. She sang to him, read to him every night, chattered to him all day around the house, and she planned to have him at work with her at the library three days a week when her maternity leave ended. The other two, Gideon would spend with Isaac at the shop. Isaac was firmly, madly, truly in love with Gideon, too.

Sometimes, Isaac would be holding Gideon, feeding him or playing with him, rocking him to sleep, and he would catch Belle watching them with the softest expression, both thoughtful and loving. Now, she held Gideon close to her chest, pressing her lips to the top of his head as she breathed in his baby smell, and the pair of them looked like puzzle pieces, born to fit together.

It was hard to imagine now that there had been a time when Belle had worried she wouldn’t take to motherhood. It suited her even better than her wedding dress.

“How do I look?” she asked, a little shyly.

“Perfect,” he said, honestly. She beamed.

“Charmer,” she muttered.

He stepped closer to her, drawn to her like the tide to the moon. He held her arms where they held Gideon, and rested his forehead against hers, breathing them in. His family. His home.

“I needed to see you,” she said, with a sigh. He pulled back a little to look in her eyes. “My dad’s drunk and still can’t believe I’m marrying you, and my aunt said something about wishing my mother were here, and I just… I needed to see you and Gideon. I needed my family.”

“Shh,” Isaac breathed. He kissed her, softly, hoping to convey what he lacked the words to express. He was overwhelmed, undone by her. “I love you,” he said. “He loves you. Whatever you need, we’re always here.”

“I know,” she said. “I know. I love you too.” She fiddled with her skirt, her eyes on Gideon. “You know, even if we weren’t getting married… I’m in this forever. This… this is forever.”

“Forever,” he agreed, a little dazedly.

He beamed at her; she beamed back. For a moment, the ceremony felt like an afterthought. This was the real happy beginning, the real commencement of their lives together. This was the start of forever. Isaac couldn’t wait.


End file.
